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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24587473">Threads of Life: Ensnared</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niaxi/pseuds/Niaxi'>Niaxi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Ensnared, Original Work, Threads of life</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Original Universe, POV Original Character, POV Original Female Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:15:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>41,067</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24587473</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niaxi/pseuds/Niaxi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Two Gangsters… Three Teens... One Target.</p><p>In the heart of Chicago, a run-down crime boss still dreams of making it big. While his one-time best friend yearns for a normal life.<br/>Meanwhile, three high school students face their own battles over love, friendship and survival. </p><p>A lucrative contract of kidnap will see the two worlds collide. The Threads of Life will weave. The fates will decide. Lives will change. People will become ENSNARED.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue: Reflections</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello everyone. These are the opening chapters to my first novel Ensnared; the first in my Threads of Life series. This story is a new adult crime thriller, however, is not your usual police investigation trope. Please see the description or read on to find out more.</p><p>This novel has been published via Amazon, however, exclusively to Ao3 readers, I am currently offering a free eBook copy to anyone who reads these chapters and is interested in reading on. Just visit my profile page for details. </p><p>Thank you for taking the time to read this and I hope you enjoy the opening of Threads of Life: Ensnared.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The solitary bulb, dangling from its tether of thin wire and rusted metal, cast the room in a dim colourless glow; that held no warmth. Cracked tiles with moulded grouting adorned the cramped walls awkwardly framing the minimalistic facilities.</p><p>The metal fixings of the cold tap screeched when forcibly turned, causing the pipes to wail. Cloudy water poured forth into the washstand as the room's sole occupant ran his hands beneath the icy jet, splashing some onto his face.  He shivered, rubbed his eyes and gazed into the chipped frameless mirror above the sink, absent-mindedly closing the tap. His youthful, soft features seemed to have hollowed somewhat since the start of the evening's activities.</p><p>He let out a slow, deliberate breath. The words of his mentor echoing from the depths of his mind, <em>“the first is always the hardest.”</em> A thin humourless smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. She had been right on that count. However, it had not meant the subsequent ones had been easy, at least not in his experience.  </p><p>Turning the man exited the claustrophobic bathroom into the adjoined bedroom. Peeling peach wallpaper, worn patched carpet and battered furniture adding to the impression that the motel’s better days were so far gone even their memory had a thin covering of dust. This room lacked a working light source. The singular light bulb had blown and swung uselessly in the centre of the ceiling forcing him to use the bathroom light instead. It illuminated a small portion of the carpet and the bottom of the bed, leaving the rest of the room to dank shadow. </p><p>From atop the mould spotted, musty, bedding he picked up his jacket and withdrew a bulky black mobile telephone. Thank heavens for technological advances he thought, crossing the room to stare out into the parking lot; it was deserted. The motel lay on the outskirts of Chicago and had proven to be relatively quiet. Dinginess had its advantages. Punching the number in he hit the call button and brought the handset up to his ear.</p><p>A female voice on the other end, sharp and stern answered. “The white bishop captures the castle on b5…”</p><p>He smiled, the familiar words almost comforting. If technology continued to progress at its current rate there would soon be little use for such passphrases, face to face calls might even be possible. Nevertheless, he dutifully replied, “…the black pawn advances to e4, one step closer to becoming a queen.”</p><p>“You’re late,” the woman snapped upon confirmation that she was talking to the right person. “I thought something had gone wrong and I would have to send a pawn to clean up after you.”</p><p>“Something did go wrong, the timings were off by almost an hour. The client’s information must have been inaccurate.”</p><p>“Is the job done?”</p><p>The man paused for a moment. His mentor had a bad habit of sounding callous when she ought to be more concerned. “Yes...”</p><p>He had barely uttered the response before she leapt upon his feelings of unease. “You still do not agree with the council's decision to accept the contract?”</p><p>“No,” he replied, calm yet steely. ”Nor do I agree with the demand of children as payment for our services. Especially those that have not yet been conceived. Besides, a minimum of nineteen years seems like a long time to wait for something that may never be.”   </p><p>On the other end, he caught a short hollow laugh. “It is not your place to question the council. You are an emissary, an extension of their will, nothing more. They lead, you follow.”</p><p>He smiled to himself. They both knew her words were rhetoric, nothing more. “When the council makes decisions I adhere to their judgement. However, that does not mean I won't question it when a mistake has been made. When we follow blindly the cliff edge only becomes apparent after we have already stepped across it... Is that not what you once taught me?”</p><p>This time the woman’s laughter was genuine, her tone holding a warmth that only he could detect. “And if all you did was obey my teachings you would soon find yourself in freefall.”</p><p>The man shook his head. Even now his mentor still had the ability to twist his words back on him and impart her wisdom. </p><p>“In this instance though I would advise you to take heed. Formulate your opinions but be careful where you voice them. Harmony does not exist within our walls in the manner that the council would...”</p><p>“…Quiet!”</p><p>From outside the sound of an engine cut the lecture short and headlights flashed through the motel room window. Pulling the phone away from his ear the man cautiously looked through the gap in the curtains. Two black muscle cars had drawn into the parking lot at the far end. As burly figures began to climb out someone ran to greet them, arm outstretched and pointing towards his room.</p><p>“…Respond!” He heard the woman say from the device.</p><p>“I’ve been followed...” he hissed, bringing the device back up to his ear.</p><p>On the other end, he could make out the woman’s muffled curse. “Shit!”</p><p>“…or betrayed. There were only two people aside from myself who knew where to find me. You… and the Client.”</p><p>“Don’t make assumptions,” the woman snapped. “You have no reason to suspect the Client. Besides, you have more pressing problems to deal with.”</p><p>“Don’t worry,” he replied, the emotion suddenly drained from his tone. “I know the rules,” Hastily the man darted over to the bed. From within his neatly packed suitcase, he withdrew a thin cylindrical object. “I get out or I die.” He shut the case.</p><p>“Good luck,” was all she said before the line went dead.</p><p>Pulling on his jacket he pocketed the phone and withdrew his Beretta M9. Expertly he fixed the suppressor to the barrel, the sound of footsteps on the wooden decking outside becoming audible. He would be outnumbered by at least six to one. Turning his head he glanced up at the bathrooms dangling lightbulb. There was no time to run and turn it off, was it best in half shadow or total darkness?</p><p>Raising his gun he fired a single shot. A light pop rang out through the still air and the room plunged into gloom. Suitcase in hand he took cover behind the double bed. In the brief moment of silence, a single thought crossed his mind. How hollow would his face look the next time saw his reflection…</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Placebo effect</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>~Nineteen years later~</p><p>##</p><p>The moon shone brightly amidst a sea of twinkling stars. That brilliant ‘pie in the sky’ that, even on nights like this, still remained out of reach for the majority. Regardless there it hung, casting its silvery light over the city of Chicago, Illinois. Amidst the northern part of the sprawling metropolis, stood an ordinary building in an average, somewhat rundown street. Like most buildings, it had the time honoured structure of walls, windows and on top of its four stories, a roof. Or at least it had the remains of such things.</p><p>An unevenly patched roof with one or two remaining holes and damp, crumbling masonry from the 1970’s, gave the building and indeed the entire street, a sagged dejected air of abandonment. The boarded fences that separated the area from the newer builds nearby, were plastered with posters for circuses long gone, disco music and roller rinks no longer in operation. Indeed, the only distinguishing feature of this building in particular, when compared to the others in a similar state of disrepair, was the fact that some of its windows still retained their glass.</p><p>Behind one particular set, not quite so fortunate to have that claim to fame, lay a room. Situated on the top floor and under a recently repaired section of the roof, it had an air akin to an abandoned store. Housing a few pieces of office related furniture, both the room and its contents could not be described as anything other than derelict.</p><p>Half-rotten planks had been nailed over the windows to provide some semblance of protection from the external world. Yet through the cracks, trickles of moonlight crept, casting a random assortment of dim spots across the walls and floor. Like a collection of spotlights, they served only to highlight the bare, cracked and missing floorboards. Though the office had not been cleaned in years better lighting would make it quite apparent that it had not lain empty in that time. Dusty floors had a habit of showing people's footprints, and this floor had a lot of them.</p><p>However, apart from showing that it was not actually abandoned proper illumination would not have been in the best interests of the office. It would literally, not show it in its best light. The door, with its bottom half having lost a fight with someone’s boot, clung to its hinges in a way that made opening it both laborious and noisy. While the greenish grey coloured walls remained uncovered, except for a large map and copious amounts of dirt.</p><p>Towards the back of the room away from the walls, the door and even the ex-windows sat a desk. A large hunk of well worked dark mahogany the desk looked like it had once come from a far more glamorous background. But now thanks to a collection of scratches, scores, scrapes and the occasional (unavoidable) bullet hole the desk and the high-backed leather monstrosity of a chair behind it, half its stuffing missing and the leather itself deeply cut, had long since waved goodbye to its glory days.</p><p>The leather behemoth groaned loudly in the deathly silence of the office as its current occupant shifted his considerable weight to a more comfortable position. A loud snore escaped from the figure, his head and arms sprawled over the desktop. His name was Sergio Gutierrez, a large man once powerful now going to seed. His once well-worked torso had lost its definition, although his waistline had certainly not forgotten to pick up the lost mass.</p><p>He shifted his upper body slightly again in his still unconscious state causing the floorboards to creak in a weary way under his chair. Though at full stretch his arms would not have reached the far edge of his absurdly large desk they still occupied a significant portion of its surface. Well-tanned and covered in black ink the man’s arms looked like large branches. A gold Rolex bit into the flesh on one wrist and a bracelet of gold links on the other. Below these, his hands hairy and scarred at the knuckles told a story of street fights won and lost and windows smashed. His dark trousers and shiny dark shoes clashed dramatically with the short sleeved wine coloured satin shirt straining across his currently slumped form.</p><p>Gutierrez grunted again. On the desk surface, a spot of light caught the edge of a clear glass bottle clutched in his right hand. Once the laws of geometrical optics played out part of the ray found itself redirected into the corner of the office owner’s semi-open right eye.</p><p>“Mrgh,” he grunted, shaking his head slightly in an attempt to rid himself of the irritation. “MRGH!”</p><p>In a fit of grouchy rage, Sergio violently threw his arm out and inadvertently relinquished his grip on the bottle. Bringing it back to rest he settl… SMASH! Gutierrez sat bolt upright, the noise ringing in his ears, hand groping blindly at his left-hand side for a non-existent gun.  As consciousness came back, his eyes hastily darted around the room for the assailant. He cursed and wrenched open the top desk drawer and pulled out a Desert Eagle. A needless effort. Had the room actually been attacked, he would have been killed or apprehended in his moment of stupidity, looking for the holster. On finding no one, Sergio dropped the firearm onto the desk. Was it too much to fucking ask for an undisturbed sleep he grumbled internally? Now what had happened to his vodka?</p><p>Wearily the man’s eyes scanned the desk surface for the bottle. When he failed to find it his gaze trailed off the edge to the floor where it soon encountered a scattered array of damp glass fragments.</p><p>“Aww, Jesus….fuck off. The whole fucking bottle!” Sergio brought a thick fist down on top of the desk with a thud; the floorboards creaking once more.</p><p>Now what? Before his brain had the chance to come up with a solution he realised that his hand was already opening the large bottom drawer of his desk. The sweet sound of clinking bottles filled his ears and he wasted no time in plucking a relatively full bottle of amber liquid out. Closing the drawer with a nudge from his shoe Sergio unscrewed the cap and filled a smudged heavy based shot glass to the rim. It was called a utopia glass, or so the packaging said, regardless it would take him to utopia or suffer the consequences. In one swift motion, he downed the shot without losing a drop.</p><p>Returning the glass to the desk Sergio’s shoulders dropped and he slid down the chair into a slouch. As the initial surge of adrenaline upon waking left him, his body impolitely demanded his attention. He closed his eyes and let out a laboured breath. His head hurt… a lot. The rude awakening followed by the search for vodka had done enough to distract his attention but now the headache had decided to make itself known with a vengeance. He glanced at his watch.</p><p>“How the fuck??” It was nearly one o’clock in the morning.</p><p>About half-past seven he had endured a heated argument with one of his… subordinates. Afterwards, he recalled swallowing some painkillers with a mouthful of vodka before resting his head on the desk to try and help shift the ensuing headache. Some good that had done, over five hours later and his head felt no better than before, worse even. Grumbling, Sergio fished around in his drawer for the pill bottle. Only to find both it and an unexpected brother. He read the labels on the side of the orange bottles. The first contained aspirin while the second something called Zopiclone, whatever the hell that was. Fuck that stuff, Sergio thought, tossing it back into the drawer. No doubt something cheap and nasty his Doc had sold him for a small fortune, the black-hearted bastard.</p><p>Popping the cap on the aspirin, Sergio swallowed two capsules with a large swig of bourbon. Only when he felt the burn at the back of his throat did the thought cross his mind that he had been given both bottles by the same ‘black-hearted bastard’. He took another drink for good measure.     </p><p>For the next half hour, the office returned to its lifeless state, the owner choosing unconsciousness. Indeed it was certainly not the worst sleeping arrangements Gutierrez had ever encountered. No, that honour still belonged to a dank alleyway somewhere in Juárez where at age eight he had spent the night huddled next to his ‘mejor amigo’, icy rain falling upon them both by the bucket load. Even to this day, it amazed him that neither of them had succumbed to hypothermia, pneumonia or worse. Getting drenched did nothing good for one’s health that much he knew… Still, that had been a long time ago…and his best friend could not be relied upon like he had been back in that alleyway.</p><p>“BRRRRRRRRRR…..BRRRRRRRRRR,” the noise penetrated his skull like an icy dagger.</p><p>“FOR FUCK SAKE!” Sergio bellowed, sitting bolt upright once more, his eyes darting to the source of the offending noise. Apparently, it was too much to ask for some undisturbed rest. In another bout of rage, Gutierrez snatched the telephone from its cradle and pressed it hard against his ear. “WHAT!”</p><p>“Tetchy tonight are we, Serg?” A female voice said in a manner far too chirpy for the late hour. He recognised it instantly, Tanya.</p><p>“Why the hell are you calling me at this hour?” Sergio barked in return, his tone one that would make any normal person start to babble apologetically.</p><p>“It’s typically the sweet spot in your day where I can catch you both awake and sober.” The sassy inflexion on that last word caused Sergio’s blood to start simmering. Nothing new there then. Tanya always seemed to have that effect on him, in more ways than one. When he failed to reply she continued. “So, what’s got you all riled up?”</p><p>“It’s this blasted headache and…” he quickly had to stop himself from divulging the fact that he had most likely taken the wrong drugs. Instead, he managed to esque it into a half-truth, “...these crappy pills Jasper sold me.”</p><p>“You had another fight with Ramone, didn’t you?” It was not a question. Without even giving her a crumb of the truth, Tanya had deduced the cause with unnerving precision. Did she really know him that well, or was his life just that easy to figure out? “I keep telling you to ditch that bum. He’s like so not on board with our new direc…”</p><p>“I’ll decide who we keep and ditch!” Sergio roared, slamming a fat fist on the desk and causing it to shudder; an impressive feat.</p><p>“Ok, ok,” Tanya replied hastily, noticeably backing off. “You’re the boss, the head man. The person without whom we would all be gutter trash.”</p><p>Sergio relaxed slightly as he drank in the ego stroking. While enjoyable it did nothing to ascertain why she had disturbed him. “You did not call just to tell me how big my dick is.”</p><p>The woman on the other end laughed. “But it is that big,” she replied wickedly. “Anyway, cock sizes aside, I’ve found this way cool gig for us.”</p><p>Sergio brought his head down to rest upon his left hand and groaned internally. Tanya’s ‘way cool’ business ideas usually served only to cause him further headache. “What have I told you about your gigs.”</p><p>“To only mention them to you if there’s a huge score at the end?”</p><p>Indeed that was not what he had told her about the various ventures she periodically presented him with. However, her hint towards a big score caught his attention. While he had long ago learned caution, big money still pulled at him like gravity at a rock climber. “What’s the job… and how big are we talking?” he asked tentatively while helping himself to a much-needed drink. </p><p>Though he could not see her, Sergio could visualise the smile spreading across the woman’s lips when she spoke. “It’s like way easy. All we gotta do is find some kid and keep them cosy until the relevant party can come and collect. An easy 250K if you ask me.”</p><p>Sergio almost choked on the bourbon, “two-hundred and fifty thousand,” he spluttered, the liquor burning the back of his throat. For a moment he said nothing and ran what Tanya had just told him through his head. Unsurprisingly, it did not add up. No one paid that sort of money for only a kid. “What is the catch?”</p><p>Tanya did not hesitate to answer. “Nothing, cept that we got to find them first. This buyer must just want this particular kid badly.”</p><p>Sergio frowned. On one hand, when things sounded too good to be true they usually were. However, on the other, that amount of money would go a long way to turning around his fortunes. He pondered for a moment before making a decision. “Look into it,” he said slowly. “If it seems to be straight up then get back to me.”</p><p>“Aye, Aye, boss,” Tanya chirped. “Go easy on the bourbon.”</p><p>Sergio looked between the bottle on his desk and the handset. How in the…? The line went dead. Shaking his head he returned the phone to its cradle. Slouching back in his chair, Gutierrez closed his eyes and willed unconsciousness to deliver him from the headache. If this venture worked out he might be able to use that two-hundred and fifty thousand to buy some better painkillers… or at least some better company with which to endure the headache.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The thought that lingers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was early morning with the sun slowly making its way from the horizon above the tops of the smaller buildings in the Chicago skyline. The air temperature sat at a nice twenty degrees and if the sky remained blue and cloud-free it would likely climb to about twenty-five by mid-day or at least so the morning weather report had claimed.</p><p>Down below the near perfect blue sheet, a particularly quiet suburb lay in anticipation of the inevitable Monday morning lively period. On well-kept lawns what little dew still existed, glistened mystifyingly in the growing warmth of the sun. If its time had come then it intended to go out in style. Elsewhere, on one lawn in particular, a solar-powered sprinkler sprang into action. A rather quaint rainbow forming where the light penetrated the water streams.</p><p>Into this picturesque advert for suburban living, the tall figure of an eighteen-year-old boy burst at a run. His red sweatpants and shirt were stained from obvious effort while a well-used pair of running shoes beat a rhythm into the tarmac. Strapped to his wrists and ankles were a set of sturdy running weights. While from his pocket a black cord ran up the inside of his sweatshirt to a pair of earbuds. His right hand clutched a half-empty plastic water bottle, with his left holding only air; though still doing an impressive job of crushing its contents. His name was Matt Taylor.</p><p>Heat rays hung low above the slowly baking road as Matt let out a laboured breath. Trying in vain to ignore the current protests from his tired limbs. After a few long and strenuous minutes, he reached the end of the street and slowed his pace to a jog. On making a left turn his music player elected to play his current favourite track.</p><p>There is only the music he thought… The opening guitar rift hammered its way towards the first verse. Just the music… everything else is immaterial. At least that’s what he tried to tell himself. Concentrate on the music, ignore the pain and keep going. That was his method for surviving his morning runs. However, today the state of mind in which only the sweet sounds of his music existed hung just out of reach. Dangling before him like the proverbial carrot that the donkey would never eat… taunting him. Only in his case, the situation had been of his own making. For both the inability to concentrate and the reason he had adopted this particular method in the first place, were one and the same.</p><p>Naturally, as was the case with many a teenage boys problems, the source happened to be one of times classics. A shining light in an ocean of darkness. A brilliant rose in a field of weeds. A child of Venus and heir to her beauty. Or put simply…a girl, his girl.</p><p>It had been her idea for him to start the day with a run and to adopt this particular method of surviving it. A good way for him to build up stamina and an excellent way to push through the pain that the increased miles would bring each day. She had taught him to lose himself in the beat and to time his breathing with it. Taught him to use it to encourage his tired limbs to keep going until his feet had eaten away the required distance. Naturally of course, as is typically the way of things when involving one's girlfriend, she had been right. But not today. Unfortunately, at this point in time, the mere thought of her negated the effect.</p><p>By the time he had forced his aching limbs to traverse the length of the street, Matt had endured enough. A build-up of lactic acid ate away at every shred of muscle in his legs and the unwanted mental workout caused each step to feel like a thousand knives. Sighing deeply he took another left turn instead of his normal right and began heading for home.</p><p>For once luck had been on his side and it had taken only five minutes to reach the tall wooden fence and gate that marked the boundary of his home. Stretching out his free hand he grasped the sturdy metal handle of the back gate. A quick twist and a hard shove from his shoulder and it burst open. Staggering forward Matt absent-mindedly knocked the hunk of rough wood back into its frame before making his way up the path. Reaching the porch he rapped on the door with his knuckles before tearing at the Velcro of his running weights with his teeth.</p><p>“Morning, Son,” a male voice said as the door opened in front of him. “Backdoor and fifteen minutes early, that’s not like you”</p><p>“Morning, Dad,” Matt replied off handily, scooping up the weights. “Wasn’t feeling up to the full thing today.”</p><p>Dumping the offending items into a small red plastic box, Matt didn’t even bother to attempt the laces of his running shoes. Instead, opting for the more primal method of wrenching them off his feet; socks and all. Barefoot he made his way out of the small back porch and into the kitchen. At the table, his dad had already returned to his morning coffee and newspaper.</p><p>“Hmm… See the mayor is taking a hard stance against these traffickers,” his dad murmured, flicking the page. “So, what’s wrong, Son?”</p><p>On hearing the question Matt stopped dead, heart rate hitching up a notch. He had hoped to make it out of the room before any further questions were asked as then he could have gotten away with the ‘sorry I didn’t hear you earlier’ excuse when next they spoke. Realising, however, that the pause would now make him even more suspicious he opted for an outright lie.  “Nothing. Just slightly tired this morning. Besides we have a game this weekend, don’t want to overdo it.” </p><p>“Well, I’m sure you know best, Son. Just don’t let the Missis catch you.”</p><p>His dad let out a small chuckle and Matt gulped slightly; the topic of his girlfriend the last thing he wanted to hear mention of. If she found out he had cut his morning run short on top of accidentally blowing her off that weekend she would probably come down on him like a tonne of bricks. No, he thought glumly, she would definitely come down on him like a tonne of bricks. In fact, a tonne of bricks landing on him would probably be preferable. This realisation must have shown through on his face as his dad, who in the in-between time had turned around to look at his son, began to laugh.</p><p>“Don’t worry, Son, I won’t tattle on you. Besides, we hardly see her these days. How’s she doing?”</p><p>“She’s fine, Dad,” Matt replied in a slightly blunt manner, trying to edge towards the door. “Anyway, I need to hit the shower before Lou…” The sound of a slam followed by a click cut Matt off mid-sentence; causing him to let out a low moan.</p><p>“…Before Lou goes into the bathroom for the next half hour,” his dad finished for him with another chuckle. Then, on seeing the look of anguish on his son's face added. “The upstairs bathrooms free and Donny’s still in the living room watching TV…” His dad paused for a split second to glance at his watch. “You have about thirty seconds before his programme ends to beat him to the stairs.”</p><p>Matt didn’t need telling twice. Moving at a faster pace than he had gone all morning he darted past his dad and out into the hall towards the stairs. The second his foot hit the first step a voice from elsewhere in the hall bellowed after him. “OH HELL NO. NO YOU DON’T, MATT!”</p><p>Cursing his dad’s time inaccuracy Matt tried to force his dense feeling legs to climb the stairs faster; the sound of his brothers thumping feet ever closer behind him. At the top, he made a quick turn to his right but not quick enough to stop the figure of his younger brother from barrelling into him and sending them both down onto the cream carpeted floor. A few seconds later and the two were a tangle of flailing limbs as they wrestled each other, neither willing to give up on the coveted prize of hot water and soap.</p><p>“Ok, ok, you win. Just get your heavy sweaty butt off of me,” Donny gasped after a few moments.</p><p>Triumphantly Matt leapt off the flattened form of his brother, who made a show of gasping for less pungent air and dived into the bathroom. Once safely locked inside he wasted no time in stripping and getting into the cubical. Turning on the shower the initial jet of cold water almost made him jump straight back out. However, the moment soon passed and glorious cascades of hot water flowed over his stiff limbs. Indeed the hot water was so welcoming to the bottom half of his body, that had his primary brain resided there, it would probably have rejected all religion in favour of one that worshipped the showerhead. Alas, the moment of relaxation did not last as from out in the hall he could hear the sound of his brother's voice whining at the woodwork.</p><p>“Come on, Matt. Hurry up in there. As much as you smell more important people have to use the bathroom.”</p><p>The boy’s complaints were soon followed by a loud thump on the door. Sighing deeply Matt realised that his moment's reprieve would be just that and quickly busied himself with the task of washing. After a few minutes, during which Donny made some more noise in the hall, he was done.</p><p>“Hallelujah!” Donny exclaimed when Matt eventually stepped out of the bathroom.</p><p>However, unbeknownst to both boys, a third person had appeared in the hall. Silently the slender figure crept along the hallway and, in a flash, shoved Matt to the side and slid into the bathroom. Turning quickly she looked at Donny and smiled.</p><p>“Sorry, Squirt, Adults first,” the voice of the stealthy usurper said slyly before slamming the door shut and sliding the bolt across.</p><p>Donny pummelled the door with his fist. “JANINE, THAT IS SOOOO UNFAIR!”</p><p>“Like you said, Squirt, as much as YOU smell more important people have to use the bathroom,” the woman, normally known as Janine replied from the other side of the door.</p><p>Matt didn’t hang around to hear the next bunch of complaints, insults and general ramblings from his younger brother. The look on Donny’s face when their older sister had usurped his place in line had almost been worth everything else he had endured. Hell, that move was worthy of… His smile vanished as the image of his girlfriend, in all her pissed off glory, drifted back into his head. An image he would undoubtedly be seeing in the flesh all too soon.</p><p>Reaching his bedroom he ran a towel over his short brown hair. Discarding it to the floor he busied himself with the ritual of dressing, trying desperately to select something his girlfriend would approve of. Eventually, he settled on a pair of black jeans and a light blue t-shirt. Not only had it been a gift from the aforementioned girlfriend but she had also commented on multiple occasions about how she felt the colour suit him. Dressing to impress might have been a cheap trick but there was precious little he could do otherwise. Finished, he looked himself up and down in the mirror and decided that if his girlfriend killed him, then at least he would be presentable for his own funeral. Collecting his rucksack he left his room behind… perhaps for the last time.</p><p>Halfway down the hall and a sound that in Matt’s house could not have been mistaken for anything other than Donny singing reached his ears. Screwing up his face slightly Matt hastily made his way down the stairs. Apparently, Donny had both made it into the bathroom and also still not taken the hint about his singing being the reason so many stray cats had taken to prowling their neighbourhood lately. He drifted back to the kitchen.</p><p> “Morning, Matt,” the cheerful voice of an energetic looking woman said when he entered. “You’re just in time, breakfasts on the bar.” She pointed to a bowl and glass that were sitting in front of an empty seat at the breakfast bar.</p><p>“Thanks, Mom,” Matt replied, moving to sit down in front of his usual breakfast of bran flakes and orange juice.</p><p>Picking up a spoon he began to attack the bowl of cereal. Although he did not feel hungry, doing anything other would have been akin to placing a neon sign above his own head that read <em>‘there’s something bothering me and I don’t want anyone to know about it’</em>. Thoughts pertaining to what form his execution might take had done wonders to dissipate his normally ravenous appetite. Forcing spoonful after spoonful of cereal into his mouth he quickly cleared the bowl and then drained the glass of orange juice, all the while failing to notice for the second time that morning the appearance of his elder sister.</p><p>“Hey, Bro,” Janine greeted, giving Matt a playful punch on his upper left arm and almost causing him to spit his last mouthful of juice all over the bar. “Sorry about the shove earlier but I was dying for a pee and Lou had already fortified downstairs.”</p><p>Awkwardly swallowing, Matt turned to look at the woman. His elder sister was nearly six years older than him, an officer in the CPD and, until the flood damage to her apartment building had been repaired, a house guest. Though taller than most girls he knew, she did not quite reach the same height he did. However, her pixie cut brown hair and eyes were practically a perfect match for his own.</p><p>“So why don’t I make it up to ya, fancy a ride to school?”</p><p>Matt considered this for a moment. Normally he would have said thanks but no thanks; walking to school contributing a small part to his fitness regime. However, today the thought of more exertion did nothing but tire him out. Besides, he was most likely already dead so what did it matter? “Yeah. Sure, thanks.”</p><p>A look of surprise spread across Janine’s face. “Slacking off today, are we? Not to worry, I’m not about to offer you a ride and then sell you out. That would just be plain mean.”</p><p>As she finished the surprise morphed into wickedness, causing Matt to ponder once more, whether his girlfriend could conceivably make his punishment worse given the right incentive. “Ok, just let me go brush my teeth and I’m ready to go.”</p><p>Out in the hall, he caught a glimpse of a girl with long blonde, almost white hair appear when he slipped into the bathroom. From inside, Matt could make out the sound of his younger sister begging with Janine for a ride too. Furiously he began brushing bits of cereal from between his teeth. A second later and he heard a rather high-pitched squeal, followed by the words thank you said several times in quick succession. It seemed that, like always, Lou had gotten her way.  A quick swig of mouthwash later and he was done. Back in the hallway, Matt wandered over to join the two girls by the front door.</p><p>“Right, where’s the Squirt?”</p><p>“I have a name you know!” the disgruntled voice of Donny said from somewhere up the stairs.</p><p>“Yep and until such a time as you either A- grow taller than me or B- stop responding to it, it’s still going to be Squirt.”</p><p>Matt rolled his eyes in a long-suffering manner, the figure of his younger brother appearing at the top of the stairs.</p><p>“She’s not taller than you and you don’t call her that,” the younger boy replied indignantly, pointing at Lou.</p><p>“True. But if I called the pair of you by the same thing it would be too much for your tiny brain to handle. Besides, she’s older than you.”</p><p>“Do they always have to do this?” Lou then said to Matt as though she felt the entire argument somehow made her look bad. Matt didn’t have a chance to reply as Janine turned to look at them.</p><p>“Right. Matt, Lou.” She turned to glance at Donny. “Squirt,” she emphasised. “Let’s go. Some of us have places to be and bad guys to bust.”</p><p>With that, the party of four trouped out of the front door. Reaching the sidewalk Matt turned around and glanced at the house, one last look for old time’s sake. He sighed and felt the corners of his mouth turn down. Behind him, his younger siblings seemed to be fighting over who was getting the front seat and Janine’s yelling more than anything encouraged him to climb into the back beside Donny, that morning’s out and out loser. As the car pulled away his brother cursed and struggled to balance his laptop on his knees. Some sort of gun-wielding game splashed across the screen.</p><p>“Dude I can’t get any sort of connection…my character’s gunna be Swiss cheese,” he whined loudly causing Lou to scoff and flip her hair from the front and open a compact mirror.</p><p>“Like your face and your grades then,” she said touching up her lip gloss. “You think you have issues? I’m wearing popular in peach nail polish with Shimmering Silver eyeshadow because there was no nail polish remover in the house. I look like a total loser”. </p><p>“Oh the problems of middle class spoiled brats,” Janine interrupted. Before Donny could reply Matt rested his elbow on the door and looked out the window conscious of the fact his eldest sibling was watching him in the rearview mirror. As the car erupted into a discussion over nail polish, bullets and the fact that stakeouts in real life were not like video games one thought lingered. His run might have been short this morning, but his day would undoubtedly be long…</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Wrong side of the tracks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wrong side of the tracks…</p><p>A light emanated through a thin wire and white paper shade, painting the small room with a dim, almost eerie glow that failed to effectively reach the corners. Of the things that were illuminated a brown three-seat sofa, a single armchair and a black wooden coffee table were the most predominant. In short, these simple furnishings were hallmarks of any traditional living room layout. Yet in this room, none felt like they really belonged.</p><p>The sagging sofa and armchair, for example. A generation ago both may have been considered decent pieces of carpentry. However moths, cigarette ends and beverages had taken their toll and all, including the now long dead moths, had come off better. Add to this the chipped, stained and faded charcoal wooden coffee table and it would become apparent to any observer that none of this miss-matched furniture should ever have been brought together in the same era let alone same living space.</p><p>The ugly thin pile brown carpet had come loose of its fittings and began to rumple in places. Around the edge of the room, the skirting had developed cracks and required repainting. The walls were yellowed, with some corners of the paper held up by drawing pins. As for the ceiling, it had fared slightly better, though only because they had been an off mustard colour to begin with.</p><p>Yet, surprisingly, not everything in the room was a lost cause or interior design nightmare. At the back, housed in a small alcove that had once been a cupboard, a pair of well cared for guitars rested on their stands; a classic acoustic and an 8-ball black electric. Neither instrument looked as though it had ever heard of nicotine stains or dust, goodness forbid had a spec of the mysterious stuff land on it.</p><p>The other dust free and clearly used article of this threadbare collection was a tall stereo system, flanked on either side by a pair of gleaming black speaker cabinets that at this moment in time produced a single sound in stereo. Leaving the cabinets the sound crossed the chaotic room towards its intended destination. Out of the open door, it travelled down a short hallway, past dusty wooden floorboards and peeling smudged paint to a small crowded bathroom cluttered with a metal unit and an avocado coloured sink. Completing the compact set of bathroom facilities was a matching toilet bowl and a curtained fronted plastic shower tray, above which steam billowed forming condensation on the low hanging and slightly cracked mirror.</p><p>Below the steam in the centre and directly under a weak spray of warm water, a teenager stood waiting, listening for the travelling sound. Her name was Anna. A moment passed and then it happened. Slowly and precisely the sound of a banjos steel strings being strummed filled her ears… she relaxed, tension dropping from her shoulders like weights.</p><p>Allowing the music to wash over her in a similar manner to the water, Anna closed her eyes and forced all prior thought out of her head. Only the sound of the music and the touch of the warm water existed, everything else in life could wait. Twisting her body, she raised her hands and slowly pushed them through a wet mass of bright, crimson hair then brought them together behind her neck. She interlocked her fingers and pressed. A stab of pain flared up in her neck and she winced.</p><p>There was only one thing for it. She would have to buy a pillow for her bed. Groaning slightly at this $5 cost realisation and at having such a trivial matter interrupt her state of Zen, she opened her eyes; the music reaching the first of its high points. At least it was free and she could focus on that for now. Plucking a bottle of shampoo from a plastic shelving unit, Anna popped the cap and upended it. Gently squeezing produced a small blob of thick gel, followed quickly by a ‘prrfftt’ noise.</p><p>“Oh fan-fucking-tastic,” Anna exclaimed in an exasperated manner, the morning's expenses reaching $8 total in her head. She sighed, allowing the offending empty bottle to fall to the tray with a clatter. “Just what I needed.”</p><p>Giving the useless thing a resentful prod out of the way she did her best to lather her slightly longer than shoulder length hair with what little shampoo she had managed to extract. After a few moments of furious rubbing, she gave up, closed her eyes and thrust her head back under the showerhead. The music worked its way through its final high point.</p><p>All of a sudden the water turned cold. Shivering, her muscles contracted and she hastily turned the shower off. The last droplets trickled from the small nozzles of the shower head, the pipes wheezed and the music slowly began to fade. Stepping out of the shower, she moved to stand in front of the sink and wiped away some of the fading condensation with the palm of her hand. She observed her features for a moment. Wet hair hung in clumps around her pale face while piercing green eyes stared at her above a petite nose and pale thin lips.</p><p>She straightened her back and lost sight of her hair and eyebrows in the low mirror. Her height came in at a decent five foot seven, her limbs had once been well defined, muscular, while her skin like her face held a slightly paler complexion than the city’s climate would normally allow for. She sighed and glanced down the length of the room at a clock that hung on the hall wall opposite. Ten past seven. Perfect, she thought as the acoustic guitar intro of the next track began. Then she froze. She had got in the shower at ten pa…</p><p>“OH SHIT!” Anna exclaimed. She had been in the shower since the start of the second track and that had begun over fifteen minutes ago.</p><p>Darting towards the door she barely paused for breath as she snatched the corner of a towel from the metal shelving unit, almost toppling it over in her haste. Catching the bathroom light switch on her way out, Anna darted into the hall and headed in the direction of the music. Halfway there and her hands were already haphazardly trying to dry her upper body with the towel. Reaching the end of the short hall she turned to her left towards her bedroom.</p><p>She cursed, spun around and dashed back down the hall and into the kitchen. Skidding to an abrupt halt, Anna snatching a bag of white bread from somewhere amongst the cluttered worktop. From its depths, she hauled two slices and thrust them into the awaiting jaws of a cheap, plastic-covered toaster. After condemning the bread to a toasting she turned on her heal and swiftly made her way back to her bedroom.</p><p>Yanking the sodden beige towel from around her shoulders she came to some semblance of a stop between an unmade metal-framed double bed and a built-in wardrobe. She really needed to find time to tidy in here she thought, her eyes locating a stack of recently laundered clothes amidst the carnage that was her bedroom.</p><p>Resigned to the fact that most of her hair would have to dry on the move, she buried her face into the towel. Staggering blindly she made her way to the far side of the bed towards a single armless chair where the clothes pile resided. A moment later and her left foot took a step too far and collided with one of its spindly metal legs.</p><p>“Oww…Bastard,” Anna cursed, taken her rage out on the wet towel by throwing it down to the floor.</p><p>Giving her foot a quick shake she ignored the throb of pain and turned her attention to the pile of laundry. From the top, she snatched an un-matching pair of white sports socks, a pair of blue underpants and a black bra. Hurriedly she put on her underwear, ignoring the protests from her left foot when its turn to be shoved into one of the socks came around. Carelessly Anna toppled the other items to the floor and withdrew a pair of loose fitting, not that she had any other type, ripped blue jeans.  </p><p>She groaned on realising there was no t-shirt or other form of upper body clothing to be found. Just great she thought, eyes once again darting around the room in search of the elusive article of clothing. Finally, they came to rest on a crumpled blue tee only a few feet from where she stood. Practically pouncing on the thing, as though it might try and dart off under the bed, Anna brought it up to her nose, gave it a quick sniff, and then tossed it over her shoulder.</p><p>“Damn it,” she cursed, snatching up a black music t-shirt from beneath a pair of jeans that had lain beside the rejected blue.</p><p>A quick glance at the digital alarm clock on her bedside table told her that, regardless of smell, this one would have to do. Pulling the wrinkled thing over her head Anna stumbled a few feet to where a pair of world-weary converse had been abandoned the previous night. Stuffing her slender feet inside, she wasted no time in lacing them up. Finally, she tied her hair back with a thin black hair tie and knotted a triangular shaped light-blue bandanna around her left wrist.   </p><p>Another check of the time and she rushed out of the door. She had barely made it to the kitchen when the smell of burning hit her nostrils.</p><p>“OH SHIT!” she yelled on seeing a plume of black smoke rising steadily from the toaster.</p><p>Dodging the table corner, Anna slid across the ripped vinyl covered floor, stretched out an arm and caught the eject button on the toasters right-hand side.</p><p>“Crap!” She snatching the still smouldering bits of charcoal that had once been her breakfast from the red-hot jaws of the toaster.</p><p>In one swift motion, owing to the fact that her fingers were now getting burned, Anna lobbed the blackened bread directly into the centre of a trash can. With no time to lament the loss of her breakfast nor make another attempt, Anna swiftly crossed the short distance to the table. With her right hand, she took a worn black rucksack from the back of a sagging wooden chair, while with her left she snatched an antique cell phone and portable music player from the table-top.</p><p>Pocketing the two devices she made her way out of the kitchen, turned left and reached the apartment door within a few steps. The slip of a chain, the turn of a key, and one very harsh and forceful yank later, the stiff and heavy door to the apartment opened inward groaning loudly on its hinges.</p><p>Gingerly stepping outside Anna glanced around carefully before turning back to pull the door shut. She struggled with it for a moment before the wooden monstrosity slammed shut. She locked it twice and checked the mailbox on the wall beside her door. Bill…bill…she flipped through the handful of manila paper then stuffed them back into the box to deal with later. Across the hall her neighbour’s box overflowed with notices that screamed final demand indicating two things, he hadn’t been back to his apartment recently, which didn’t really concern her and secondly, she was not the only one with problems. She popped her headphones into her ears and headed down the cold concrete stairs two at a time using the bannister for support.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The bullets fly</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>An empty expanse of grass lay before the figure as he ran. On either side, two sheer faces of rock ran parallel up the valley; giving him nowhere to go but forward. Weaving tactically from side to side, he hurriedly made his way between the crags of rock. From cliff-top to cliff-top, his eyes darted, desperately scanning, searching for any potential assailants or would-be assassins who had elected to camp out. Cautiously he manoeuvred his way, each step pounding the long dry grass into the mud all the while cursing the weight of his equipment. In his right hand, he clenched a small handgun in an iron grip. Truth be told he would have dropped the damn thing in a heartbeat in order to help lighten his load had it not been his only current method of defence. His primary weapon slung uselessly on his back, devoid of ammunition.</p><p>A loud bang echoed through the canyon and he froze, a bullet embedding itself in the ground only a few inches in front of his left boot. “Shit” he exclaimed, darting to his right to avoid any further attack.</p><p>Based on the direction of the sound and the angle at which the bullet had impacted the earth he knew exactly where the shot had originated from. Sharply he turned his head to face the left-hand cliff. In one fluid motion, he raised his firearm and rapidly began squeezing the trigger. He knew he would be lucky if one of the shots landed within a few yards of its intended target. However, the effort might just be enough to make the sniper take cover thus buying him some precious time. Seconds later and a low click sounded from the hunk of metal in his hands and he cursed again. Fumbling to reload the weapon on the fly another bullet, this time from somewhere behind, came whizzing past his ear.</p><p>Now it was a race. His feet against the hand-eye coordination of the collective snipers and he would be damned if they were going to beat him. Tossing the empty weapon aside he focused solely on the rocky outcrop that had just materialised in front of him. Heart hammering he willed himself to move faster as to his left and rear two more shots narrowly missed his head.</p><p>“Come on, come on,” he cursed under his breath, urging himself onward.</p><p>A moment later and the grass abruptly ended and his feet came into contact with packed dirt. Spying the lowest rock in the cluster he darted for it. With less than a foot between himself and the craggy boulder, he prepared to vault it when another blast rang out from behind him and forward he stumbled.</p><p>Blood oozed from his right calf as he threw himself on top of the small rock, staining it a macabre colour. Agonisingly he forced himself to roll over and off the other side to safety. His heart skipping a beat as a bullet scraped the tip of the boulder in the exact spot his head had been less than a second prior.</p><p>A split second to catch his breath and take in his surroundings proved fruitful. “Oh baby you are my saviour!” he exclaimed when he saw his prize.</p><p>Expertly he heaved himself up and slung the gun from his back into his hands. Diving on top of a small cylindrical metal container he wrenched open the ammunition compartment of the weapon and thrust it directly inside. Like a savage wolf, he let out a monstrous snarl which reverberated through the weapon in his hand as he cracked the two halves back together and clamped his finger on the trigger. Slowly the six barrels of the gun began to rotate as each was filled. This….this was it he thought, the barrel coming round to the final chamber, the last stand, all or nothing.</p><p>The chamber loaded, a figure leapt over the rocks and the gun went off. Everything seemed to slow down then happened in half a heartbeat. In mid-air, the figure collided with the volley of rockets. The sound of the explosion echoed through the canyon, ripping through the air like Death’s scythe through a soul and was soon joined by the splatter of blood and various surviving body parts like a gruesome rain. From somewhere above an ethereal voice boomed out “VICTORY ACHIEVED!!” before everything slowly faded to black.</p><p>The sound of heavy breathing penetrated the silence before the figure spoke, “Close but not close enough Bigboy twenty-two. Once again you and your team of wet-eared newbie babies have been crushed by the Dylanator and his crew of bloodthirsty behemoths!”</p><p>The speaker who in the real world simply went by the name Dylan, sat back in his chair with a triumphant grin spread across his face, his fingers toying with the slightly slick mouse in his right hand.</p><p>“And just for the record folks, in case any of you had overlooked…” he paused for a moment, his grin managing to somehow widen “…or if you’re Bigboy twenty-two and can’t count that high. That makes eleven straight wins for us over your babies in a row.”</p><p>Before Dylan could continue his victory rant a loud bang followed by an equally loud, shrill voice sounded from somewhere behind him. “DYLAN MONTAGUE RODGERS, IF YOU DON’T GET DOWN THOSE STAIRS IN THE NEXT THIRTY SECONDS I’M TURNING THE ELECTRICITY OFF!”</p><p>Dylan cringed as the threat filled his left ear; his other spared the rant due to the expensive headset he wore. Ignoring it for the moment he turned his attention back to the large monitor in front of him. “Ok, so the old battle axe is trying to batter down the door again folks. Let’s make this last one a quick first to ten, everyman for himself. That way Bigboy can’t complain when his own teammates shoot him in the back.”</p><p>A general murmur of agreement mixed with a couple of moans, and one furious declaration of war, sounded through Dylan’s earpiece as he went about setting up the next game. There were barely a few moments before the sound of gunfire filled the room once more. Dylan expertly moved his character through the virtual world; blowing up anyone that he came across.</p><p>He chuckled under his breath as a split second later another hapless player crossed his path and soon found themselves in multiple pieces. “Come on folks you’re all making this far too easy.” After only a few short minutes in which a lot of things exploded, imploded, were electrocuted, cut down, crushed and just in general brutally slaughtered, Dylan stood up from behind his desk and felt the warm fibres of a soft cream carpet slip through the gaps between his toes. He stretched, revelling in the feeling, the tension easing from him.</p><p>“So after only five minutes and ten straight kills, all of which by gruesome dismemberment I might add, it transpires that the Dylanator is still the undisputed champion of Deathmatch. Thank you and good morning.”</p><p>Uninterested in any counterclaim to his supremacy Dylan pulled the headset from behind his ear and casually tossed it down beside the computer. Turning to face the expanse of his well-ordered room the boy slowly began to rub his eyes as they struggled to come to terms with the non-virtual world.</p><p>The room itself was a large rectangle with copious amounts of unoccupied floor space towards the centre. Like the floor, the walls were cream in colour though at first glance far more difficult to detect. From top to bottom posters had been tacked in almost every available space with most depicting various female fictional characters along with a few that were not so… fictional, yet still very much the stuff of fantasy. </p><p>His eyes finally adjusted, Dylan found himself staring up at a particularly large image of a girl with pale pink hair, a stoic expression, and a futuristic-looking sword. Winking up at her in a manner that indicated that he had every intention of seeing her and giving her much more attention later, Dylan made his way across the large open space between his desk and a white wood door that led into an en-suite bathroom. Lazily he made full use of the facilities before moving to stand in front of a large mirror mounted above a white porcelain sink. Picking up a comb from a small glass shelf the boy stared intently at his reflection, the slightly off centre set to his nose claiming his attention and for a second he rubbed the bridge before trying to get his hair to sit right.</p><p>He was of average height with a thin waistline and narrow shoulders. Up top, he had a head of messy hair that time had turned a light brown from its original dull blonde and a pair of dull brown eyes that contained the subtlest hint of green. Though Dylan may have been lacking in body mass and muscle, or as his more athletic friends often put it, devoid of any muscle not required to operate a gamepad, he more than made up for it in the good looks department.</p><p>Deciding that his hair would not co-operate he opted for the easy solution and picked up a tube of gel. Rubbing a small amount of it through his unruly hair the sound of the shrill woman’s voice could be heard once more. “BOY! IF YOU DON’T GET YOUR REAR END DOWN THOSE STAIRS NOW YOUR FATHER IS GOING TO HEAR ABOUT IT.”</p><p>Yet again startled by the sudden sound of the woman’s voice, Dylan dropped both comb and gel into the sink with a clunk. As he motioned to pick them up the one part of his hair he had been furiously trying to make stand up flopped back down to his scalp. Biting his lip he stifled the urge to yell something rude at the housekeeper; he did not want to give her a proper reason to call his father after all.</p><p>“Ok, Tabby, I’ll be down in a minute. I’m just getting my stuff together!” he replied instead, trying once more to fix his hair. </p><p>“Oh! Don’t you ok Tabby me,” the voice replied back; distinctly fainter than the last time. “I’ve been up since the crack of dawn… no respect… don’t know who you think you are…”</p><p>Stupid old witch Dylan thought as his ears failed to pick up the rest of the woman’s rant. Someone should tell her that if she moves away from the person she is raving at the intensity of her prattle decreases to the point where they are spared from it. He made a mental note that it would be in the universes best interests not to inform the woman of the finer points of acoustics, lest people be forced to endure even more of her than he already had to.</p><p>Back in the main part of his bedroom Dylan quickly located some socks and a pair of customised sneakers. Slipping his feet into both he expertly laced them up then wandered over to his study desk and collected a green ring-binder from its surface and began flicking through it. Finding the part he was looking for he neatly slipped a stack of freshly printed pages inside and closed it over. Picking up a black leather laptop case he carefully slid the folder inside before shouldering the bag. He sighed and made his way over to a set of double doors. Time to run the gauntlet. Turning a small key in the lock he opened the right-hand door and poked his head out into the hall. Looking both ways he surprisingly found no trace of the housekeeper anywhere in the hallway. Satisfied he had a clear path to the stairs, Dylan left the room and locked the door behind him.</p><p>Cautiously he made his way down the hall stopping every now and then to listen out for any sound that would indicate the location of the woman. Halfway along he turned to his left and stopped at the foot of two connecting flights of stairs; one leading up the other leading down. Choosing the downward set he made his way down, avoiding any and all floorboards that would make excess noise. Nearing the ground floor Dylan poked his head through the gap between the bannister and the roof to survey the hall. No sign of Mrs Mardle aka the old witch here either. Perhaps she was cleaning something on the first floor he thought, breathing a sigh of relief and edging ever closer to the bottom.</p><p>Feet touching down in the wooden entrance hall Dylan’s eyes fixated on a door at the right-hand bottom side. Making a b-line straight for his goal he crossed the polished floor in only a few strides. Cautiously turning the handle he slowly eased open the door, slipped inside and then froze at the sight of… nothing.</p><p>“Did we forget that our car is away having its brakes fixed today?”</p><p>Dylan’s head almost hit the top of the doorframe as he spun around. In front of him stood the housekeeper, her wrinkled features twisted into a look that Dylan knew to be glee. He had been in too much shock from the revelation that his car was gone that he hadn’t even heard the woman scuttle up behind him. His mouth hanging open the woman wasted no time in continuing her victory speech.</p><p>“So, we thought that we could sneak off without being caught did we?”</p><p>The woman stepped back from the doorway as she spoke. Cursing both his memory and his car's brakes, Dylan reluctantly re-entered the hallway and closed the garage door behind him.</p><p>Mrs Mardle raised a long-nailed and gnarled finger and pointed it at him like a sword. “Now you listen here, Boy. Your father entrusted me to make sure that you were properly fed, watered and kept out of trouble…”</p><p>Dylan rolled his eyes; he heard this one at least three times a week. Why could his father not have hired a much younger and more attractive housekeeper? As this thought fluttered through his mind he had to take a few steps to his left to avoid being impaled by a pointed fingernail.</p><p>“…Now you just march yourself into that kitchen and eat the breakfast that I made for you half an hour ago.”</p><p>The housekeeper brandished her favourite weapon in the direction of his face and it struck Dylan that his younger and hotter looking housekeeper might not work to his advantage after all. Had discipline style been top of his father’s list of priorities when he had hired this old witch, then his fair maiden would probably have turned out to be one of those dominatrix type women who would have had him chained up in the basement and flogged for his actions that morning. Or to simplify things his father could just have hired his best friend’s girlfri… Oh no his brain screamed at him that was taking things into a realm that he had no wish to venture. He did not want to be stuck with the image of his best friend’s girlfriend flogging him in his own basement for the rest of the day. Most likely because in reality, he would probably find his best friend chained up next to him as the girl punished them both.</p><p>“Well, what are you waiting for, Boy? March yourself into that kitchen immediately!”</p><p>For once Dylan was glad to have the woman’s piercing voice shatter the image in his head. Returning to reality, which looked a lot more bearable now, Dylan glanced at his wristwatch and groaned. He would have to run for it. Without his car, he would have to walk to school and that would take him most of the time that remained between now and homeroom.</p><p>Taking a firm grip on the strap of his laptop case Dylan braced himself. The instant the housekeeper’s finger moved to point towards the kitchen he ran for it. Darting to his left, he managed to cross the hallway before the woman achieved enough air to screech at him. He weaved and ducked slightly, senses on high alert and eyes scanning the various table tops and shelves for would be projectiles that his enemy could throw at him. On reaching the front door a suspect vase caught his attention. Grabbing it he wrenched open the door and stumbled out into the warm sun. Turning only for a split second he tossed the vase up in an arch and then legged it faster than any of his characters had run that morning. Feet hammering into the long drive that led to the main gate he could hear snippets of the various threats and curses the housekeeper made from back on the porch, indicating she had stopped chasing him to catch the probably priceless family heirloom that he had thrown.</p><p>Halfway down the drive and the distinctive noise that could only be the banging of the front door being closed reached his ears. Though he did not slow to a more socially acceptable pace until he was safely out onto the street. Victory achieved…at least for now, he would be reprimanded for his actions later. Perhaps in hindsight having his best friend’s girlfriend for housekeeper might not be such bad idea after all he mused. Then he could at least have some company while he was being punished.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Dollars, donuts and the dead art of conversation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Only one word could describe the street that awaited Anna at the bottom of the concrete stairs, stereotypical. Situated in one of the less grandiose parts of town it had an old dilapidated look and, for some inexplicable reason, it always felt like autumn. The watered-down warmth of a sun that split the pavements elsewhere only seemed to glance in the general direction of this area. A cluster of dried up leaves mixed with old newspapers and other rubbish blew along the gutter in a breeze that didn’t seem to exist anywhere else in the city.</p><p>On the walls of several buildings and a singular metal shutter, faded, half-finished graffiti was randomly plastered. Indeed the hoodlums had not been the only people to have given up on this street, the fact that only a quarter of the buildings looked upgraded and a collection of boarded-up shops were a testament to the air of neglect. Yet, ironically, not everything sat abandoned. A small general store still stood on the bottom corner, while a set of crumbling brick steps led down to a decrepit looking bar with a broken neon sign above its door depicting a woman wearing less than was socially acceptable.</p><p>Aside from the various stores, both those deserted by customers and by owners, the rest of the street was residential. The buildings were a mass collection of rotten wood plank covered windows, smoke-filled curtains and an old national flag with only forty-nine stars, above a desolate strip of potholed cracked tarmac.</p><p>Beside the curb, there were scarce few cars parked and even then those that did exist were universally old and most in want of a trip to either a mechanic or the scrap yard; one even sat atop bricks. This, plus the general state of the road, served only to suggest that this street could certainly lay claim to the title of ‘the road less travelled’.</p><p>A gnarled old woman stood on the sidewalk by one of these loosely termed cars, washing her windows with a dirty rag dunked in greasy water. On the other side of the street, a middle-aged man lay in a drunken stupor at the bottom of an alley. A Stetson hat of all things pulled across his eyes.</p><p>Overall, a general consensus existed with regards to life here. You were either an old person who had lived there all your days and were too blind to notice the condition of your wash water. Too drunk, stoned or otherwise intoxicated to care about the condition of where you slept it off…. Or you belonged to the third and generally worst off group, you simply had no choice and had to ignore the living conditions. Irrespective of group, to survive in this neighbourhood you were either not worth bothering, a stranger to sobriety or appeared crazy enough that even the most determined mugger would give you a wide berth.</p><p>About a third of the way up this street from behind a thick wooden green hulk of a door Anna stepped out and allowed the heavy thing to slam shut behind her. With purpose, she quickly made her way down the chipped and cracked stone steps at the front of the four-story building to the sidewalk below. She rolled her eyes and sidestepping the old woman who, when Anna came within a few feet of her window washing, turned to look at her and shouted something akin to, “Keep away from my husband you filthy skank.”</p><p>Batty old bitch Anna thought as she crossed the road to get away from the old woman and her brandished rag. She would never go near the geriatric gas bag’s husband. He was dirty, dishevelled, decrepit and above all dead. At least that’s what she had been told by one of the streets other denizens when she had moved in two years ago.</p><p>For the next ten minutes, Anna expertly made her way through a grid of similarly interconnected streets. No one else said anything to her. In fact, anyone watching closely might possibly have argued that the few people whom she passed all seemed to find an excuse to move ever so slightly further away from her cementing, somehow, her position in the third aforementioned group of residents. She paid them no heed, briskly continuing along her route.</p><p>A couple of well-negotiated turns later and the collective noise of the morning rush hour traffic reached her over her music. She stepped out of a narrow alley and onto the main road and breathed a small sigh, the slight tension in her shoulders from the way she had held herself on leaving the apartment ebbing. From somewhere amidst the expanse of gridlocked vehicles a car horn sounded, followed by another, then another. Soon the inevitable chain reaction was in full swing and everywhere horn blasts of different lengths and tones could be heard with each vying to be heard above the others, as though their driver’s individual protest against the jam were the most important.</p><p>At least she did not have to put up with all this noise on her doorstep Anna mused; a small positive. She had enough trouble sleeping without adding this. Joining the throng of people who were standing at a crossing one gentleman in a suit and overcoat glanced at her and wrinkled his nose. A few moments later and the sound of another car horn from directly beside her filled the air and ignoring the man a thin smile crept across her lips. She didn’t even need to look up to know that the lights had changed; traffic could be so predictable. She moved forward with the throng.</p><p>Reaching the other side of the road Anna allowed herself to be swept to the right by the crowd as it made its collective way down the busy sidewalk. A few minutes of intricate weaving later and she managed to reach the outer edge; just in time to detach herself from the conglomeration of mid-morning travellers and peel off down a quieter side street coincidentally joined by the man from before.</p><p>Leaving the main road, with all its single-minded drivers and pedestrians behind her, Anna reached a hand into her right pocket and pulled out her phone to check the time; she was on course to make it with a few minutes to spare. On realising this she let out a slow breath and reduced her pace slightly. No need to hurry now, she could just meander along the rest of the way and enjoy the music…</p><p>Crap. The singular word floated around her mind upon realising that she had been in such a hurry that she had not noticed the silence in her earbuds. The mp3 player might have been cheaper than she would have liked but at least it provided her with a source of music while away from her stereo. Sighing at the lost opportunity, even though it could only have been a few minutes, Anna fished the device from her left pocket and began furiously untangling the inevitable mess of wire that her earbuds had been doomed to become from the moment they descended into the pockets denim depths. It still seemed to be playing. She turned the wire, unplugged it and put it back in. Nothing, not even a hiss to indicate the connection worked. Dismay filled her and the total in her head gave her the option of either $10 or $12. They were broken. Truth be told the earbuds were another concession and had they not been her only option it would not have bothered her so. She would have much preferred a sturdy pair of cans but the cheapest Wallmart could offer cost $12 which she was dubious on spending, coupled with the bus fare there and back…</p><p>She pinched the bridge of her nose, the weekend could not have been worse and the week did not look promising… “Yo, Morgan, wait up,” a voice called out from behind her…and getting worse.</p><p>Anna froze in her place on hearing the voice, her first mistake. Her spine stiffened and her fingers almost crushed the now useless hard plastic earphones without even thinking. She needed neither sight nor voice recognition to tell who the owner was. The content of the ‘greeting’ had been enough.</p><p>Turning on her heel while at the same time stuffing her broken earphones down the front of her t-shirt, for their own safety of course, Anna fixed her greeter with a look that would have sent most people scampering to the airport and onto the next flight out of the country. Slowly her green eyes met his brown ones and she opened her mouth.</p><p>“Don’t. Call. Me. Morgan,” Anna said slowly in a voice so cold, calm and emotionless, that it sounded though it could have been drawn from the still surface of an ever frozen lake.</p><p>As her icy eyes bored into his she could sense that the boy already regretted his choice of words with every fibre of his being. Perhaps she had finally gotten through to him. Never releasing his gaze Anna knew that no response would be forthcoming and that if either of them wanted to get on with their day then it would be up to her to break the deadlock.</p><p>She sighed in a manner that suggested his presence brought her great pain and rubbed her left temple. “What do you want, Dylan?”</p><p>“Geeze, Anna, no need to bite my head off,” Dylan exclaimed finally finding words and apparently having managed to regain some shred of composure.</p><p>“Perhaps if you used your ears more and your mouth less, you would save yourself a lot of trouble. Besides, in my experience you get on best when you keep this shut…,” she raised her hand, placed her thumb beneath her fingers and then brought them together, “… and only give short replies when someone requires you to answer.”</p><p>He blinked at her stupidly for a moment sucking air in and out, annoyed. “Why do you always have to speak to everyone as though they are a child?”</p><p>“At-at-ah,” Anna cut in, bringing her the index finger of her left hand to her lips and waggling the one on her right in a tisk-tisk manner. “We aren’t using our ears again are we?”</p><p>Dylan’s mouth seemed to have fallen open, like that of a guppy. Anna took that as a sign that his lexicon had used up its word allowance for the day and that the conversation would be rather one-sided from now on. Faking a sigh she continued.</p><p>“Since you have such a hard time learning things I suppose I’m going to have to let this one slide and give you an example of how to answer a question.”</p><p>When a response from the boy was still unforthcoming Anna let out an actual sigh and rolled her eyes before recommencing.</p><p>“To answer your question, if by everyone you mean you, then the answer’s simple, it’s because you act like a child. So one often finds it better to talk to you as if you were. Your housekeeper for example. I imagine she calls you Boy because she doesn’t think your teeny tiny brain will cope with the much more syllabic, Dylan.” It was a cheap shot, allowing her annoyance at her morning to get the better of her. She added a lifeline for him to soften the blow. “Now why don’t you take a deep breath and try it yourself. Oh, and remember to keep it short and to the point.”</p><p>With that Anna casually turned around and began walking away; completely missing the stunned look on the boy’s face. A few moments later and the sound of his hurried footsteps filled her ears and he came up to walk beside her. It had been too much to hope that he would have decided to count his losses and move on.</p><p>“Look I just saw you walking down the road and thought, hey we’re going in the same direction why don’t we walk together. Excuse me for trying to be nice.”</p><p>“You only do nice when it’s beneficial to you, which returns me to my initial question. What do you want, Dylan.”</p><p>Anna neither slowed her pace nor turned to acknowledge that the boy had hurried to catch up and draw level with her. </p><p>“You know you were a lot nicer before you started hanging out with us,” he said grumpily under his breath.</p><p>As the boy uttered his latest remark she turned to go up another street. The sound of a few hard footsteps echoed from behind her and Anna knew that she had caught him off guard and that he had subsequently needed to make a very sharp turn to try and keep up with her. </p><p>“And I thought you were a lot smarter than you are before I started sitting at the same table as you at lunch,” she fired back</p><p>“We never asked you to sit with us at lunch,” he spat</p><p>“Again if by we, you mean you, then you are correct. Matt, on the other hand, did invite me to sit with his friends at lunch. Unfortunately, that group happens to include you.” Pausing, Anna sighed internally once more. This was becoming very irritating very quickly…. so much for meandering the rest of the way while enjoying her music.</p><p>“Besides I seem to recall that… now let me see if I can remember your actual words…” She didn’t need to pause for she could recall his words perfectly. However, the recitation of such overblown pomp required such a recess in order to fully do it justice.  “We can’t just have any old person sitting with us at lunch, Matt. There’s an entire social structure and protocol that must be observed. If we were to throw it out the window society as we know it would crumble.”</p><p>Anna didn’t need to turn to see that Dylan’s jaw had once more hit the sidewalk. She had her impersonation of him nailed. Returning to her own tone she quickly got back to the initial point. “At the end of the day, you personally put it to a vote… and lost.”</p><p>“That was never a fair vote!” Dylan exclaimed in almost outrage. “You somehow managed to bewitch Matt. Kitty rarely says anything anyway and when she does the word no doesn’t exist in her vocabulary. Mark didn’t care either way but voted to annoy me! And Nat, who herself couldn’t vote against it as she would have looked bad in front of Matt.”</p><p>When Dylan finished a thin smile broke out across Anna’s lips yet she somehow managed to stifle her laughter. It was almost too easy to wind him up she thought yet she enjoyed it nevertheless.</p><p>“Shall I tell you what your problem is, Dylan? Instead of just accepting that your best friend finally realised that doing what was in your best interest wasn’t always in his, you act like a child and throw your toys out of the baby carriage whenever you don’t get your own way. Which ironically puts your precious popularity at more risk than if you just accepted defeat with a smidgeon of grace.”</p><p>Anna only managed to progress a few steps more before she found her path blocked. Apparently, Dylan could be light on his feet when the occasion called for it, though the loud noise of the traffic had aided him somewhat.</p><p>“Why the hell do you have it out for me, Morgan? What I ever do to you?”</p><p>Anna stopped dead. Slowly she raised her gaze to meet the boys, her facial expression making her look as though for her murder could quite easily be just a well-practised pastime.</p><p>“If you call me by that name once more…,” she began, ignoring his question, all emotion completely drained from her voice. “…I’m going to ensure that everyone starts calling you by your childhood play name and that they know every single embarrassing story about you that exists.”</p><p>“Y… You wouldn’t dare,” Dylan replied in a defiant yet terrified tone; all the colour in his face appearing to have been sucked out by her cold green eyes.</p><p>“Oh…,” she allowed herself a small chuckle bereft of any humour. “Wouldn’t I?” Anna replied, her voice sounding cruel and slightly sadistic. “You just said so yourself I have it out for you remember.” A twisted smile formed on her face. “Now shall I tell you something else?”</p><p>When Dylan failed to respond she continued.</p><p>“While you drive to school in your little car every day I walk the route we are currently on.” As she spoke she pulled out her cell phone and glanced at its small screen. “It’s seven-fifty. Homeroom is at eight and it takes fifteen minutes to get to school from here at an average walking pace.”</p><p>The look of horror on Dylan’s face intensified with each word she spoke. “Also If I remember correctly, which I am sure that I do, you’re on two strikes. One more and it's detention.” She waggled her right index finger in a tisk-tisk manner again.</p><p>“Now didn’t I hear something about your father not being satisfied with your school work, and that if you got one more detention this year, then you faced spending your summer on a military academy program for no good layabouts?” Her smile widened. “Better RUN, Boy.”</p><p>“You’re a cruel and sadistic bitch Anna,” Dylan managed to blurt out before he turned around and started to run in the direction of their school.</p><p>“Later, Dilly,” Anna called out; her voice filled with amusement. With the distraction now running at breakneck speed away from her, Anna pulled her earbuds out from the neck of her t-shirt and then remembered.</p><p>Her face fell, the moment of teasing had ended and she would pay for it by the death of her earphones. She pocketed the device and the useless wires and began a slow walk in the general direction in which Dylan had run off. The altercation with him had slowed her pace too much and so now she was late. Had she felt like it, she could have followed suit and ran the rest of the way but she didn’t.</p><p>Once upon a time, had she chosen to do so, she could easily have outstripped the boy and made it with a few minutes to spare. Unfortunately, the loss of her breakfast had left her feeling both hungry and lethargic. Still, it was not a massive problem she mused as her stomach grumbled. Unlike Dylan, she only had a single strike at present and so could afford to be late.</p><p>Turned a corner the smell of freshly made doughnuts engulfed her nostrils and her stomach hastened to remind her of its lost meal. She couldn’t really afford the treat she thought glumly. However, her brain had already added up to the $15 mark and her body switched to autopilot and moved her towards the sticky aroma. With a final glance in the direction that she ought to be travelling Anna stepped inside the shop. For now, at least school would have to wait.</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Dante and the devil</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The cool breeze that drifted through the window was, for once, a welcome one to Dylan Rodgers. The morning weather forecast had made good on its promise of warmth from the glaring sun overhead. This celestial body made the outdoors look inviting and, unfortunately, caused the air temperature to rise to a point where any stuffy classroom paralleled the ninth circle of hell and made itself last place a teenage student wanted to be. The current subject was English and world literature, and given the fact that the classroom in which he sat could be likened to the old Greek Fields of Punishment, Dylan’s cool breeze was more a small mercy in a torture chamber rather than a nice addition to a productive learning environment.</p><p>Typical for a school of its size Woodlake Academy had many English literature teachers and they came in the usual assortment of shapes, sizes, sexes and styles. Since the start of the previous year Dylan’s class had been stuck with the worst; Mr Stevens. Tall and wiry with a thin waistline and an equally thin pair of lips and twitchy moustache, the greying old Scotsman stalked the school like an overgrown weasel with a permanent sneer of disdain on his face for any student or staff alike who dared to cross his path. He spent any time out of his domain looking for any excuse to bully and berate unsuspecting students. In his classroom, he was even worse. Once a student crossed the threshold all semblance of fairness and equality vanished until the toll of the school bell released them, and even that had to be by his leave. “That bell is for me not for you. I dismiss you and don’t you forget it”</p><p>While some teachers promoted discussion, Stevens maintained a blanket rule of silence unless spoken to, with any other impression of sound treated like an act of disobedience and punished immediately. In fact, Dylan had once witnessed someone being sentenced to a detention just because their pencil scratched too loudly on their paper.</p><p>Not just one to reprimand single offences Mr Stevens had a special place physically reserved for those students he hated the most; the row of desks nearest the windows. This served to do two things, one break the will of those students forced to sit there, as the view outside reminded them of an out of reach freedom and secondly subject the students to the elements. Come rain, hail or snow the windows to his classroom would remain open; it bordered on abuse. The last seat in a perfectly aligned row of four belonged to Dylan. In front of him sat his best friend, Matt, while the dreadlocked skater guy in the first row Dylan didn’t know too well other than his surname; “McLeod,” which Mr Stevens like to screech at him. The current empty chair behind him belonged to Anna.</p><p>Today, like yesterday, tomorrow and every day past and future Mr Stevens stood clad in black trousers, a white shirt that had gone slightly beige in places and a tweed jacket. His lack of tie made him look rather untidy, dishevelled almost. Expertly the teacher sliced his way between the desks, reading out choice sections from one of the student’s literature reports. With each stride, his scratchy voice passed derisive commentary on sections Dylan knew were probably better than half of what the rest of the class had written.</p><p>“…In an attempt to assert his authority and bring an end to the affair the Prince declares that those that were involved in it will be either disciplined or ….” Mr Stevens read in a mocking tone, his accent becoming even more pronounced, before stopping abruptly. “…Let off the hook.”</p><p>The man’s words of sheer disapproval hung in the air like a deadly gas and Dylan sneaked a sideways glance. Two desks over he could see the left cheek of Alyx, the girl whose report Stevens was currently reading from, go crimson. To be fair it had been a schoolboy or in her case schoolgirl, error. Stevens had a particular dislike for anyone who, in his own words, ‘defiled the bard’. No sooner had he snapped his gaze back to the front of the room the looming figure of Stevens halted beside his desk.</p><p>“I do believe the phrase you were so diligently searching for and neglected to satisfactorily find Miss Brooke is <em>‘Some shall be pardoned, and some punish’d’…</em> Indeed nowhere I am sure did the Great Bard ever wax poetically about hooks or the chance that people should be let off them like common bait. This is Shakespeare Miss Brooke, this is masterful work of great prose, not fishing hour on the Life Time TV channel.”</p><p>Dylan knew that tone all too well. It was the same one Stevens had berated Matt with when he too had ‘defiled The Bard’. A sharp bang recaptured his attention. Stevens had slammed Alyx’s report down in front of her; causing her to jump.</p><p>“This drivel doesn’t deserve the ink it would take to write an F on it. You will rewrite this entire report and have it on my desk by the end of the week along with a 500-word mini-essay explaining why your use of colloquialisms and vulgar slang have no place in my classroom. Am I Clear?” Leaving the girl on the brink of tears Mr Stevens strode back to the front of the class and picked up the next report from the clinically stacked pile on his desk.</p><p>“And the next one of you who dares to misquote Shakespeare will find themselves copying the relevant work, word for word, over the course of however many detentions it takes for you to get it right.” As the teacher swept off amongst the desks once more Dylan was sure he heard the sound of multiple people gulping.</p><p>“Now, shall we all hear what Mr Hamilton has to say on the subject of the Divine Comedy?”</p><p>When the student's name was called out Dylan glanced to his right at the boy in the seat beside him. Like always Mr Hamilton or Mark as he was better known, sat calmly; the perfect picture of cool. Unlike the rest of the now terrified prisoners, he seemed un-phased by the fact that his head now rested on the executioner's block, the shadow of the axe cast onto his neck. Why did nothing ever seem to bother him Dylan wondered? He had been friends with the other boy since middle school and in all their time together he had never once known Mark to be phased by anything. The chance to analyse his friend further quickly evaporated, Stevens deciding that it was once again his turn to speak. Dylan forced his gaze back to the front of the room.</p><p>“Although commonly misnamed Dante’s Inferno, the Divine Comedy is in fact divided into three different sections of which the inferno is but the first.”</p><p>A good opening line, Dylan thought. However…</p><p>“No points for stating the obvious, Mr Hamilton, I would have expected an 8<sup>th</sup> grader to tell me that.”</p><p>And there it came. The proverbial axe cleaving away at what undoubtedly the best opening line Stevens would find in the stack, save for his own of course. Dylan sniggered internally. He had made sure that Stevens would have to go to extraordinary lengths to find fault with his own work. Regardless, in this realm, it would be unlikely to net him anything more than a B+.</p><p>“Although it has been argued that…”</p><p>Dylan never got to find out what had been argued as the sound of footsteps towards the open door cut Mr Stevens off. Looking up from his desk he glanced at the doorway. In the frame, a girl with bright red hair wearing a black t-shirt and blue paint-splattered jeans wandered into the room, Anna.</p><p>“And to what do we owe the pleasure of your company, Miss Richards, ten minutes into my lesson?” Mr Stevens declared in mock humbleness, making his way to the front of the room. “In fact no a better question. Tell me, what is your opinion on the Divine Comedy?”</p><p>Dylan smiled to himself, Anna deserved this and much more. After she had proverbial kicked his ass, he had been forced to run like hell in order to get to school before the second homeroom bell rang. Even then he had only evaded detention by the good graces of the homeroom teacher. A detention that may, as Anna had proclaimed earlier, have gotten him shipped off to military school. A drunken incident last winter vacation had led his father to dangle that particular sword over his head, ready to drop should he land himself in any form of trouble at school or with the law. </p><p>In front of him, he could see beads of sweat begin to form on Matt’s neck and knew the other boy was trying in vain to silently communicate to Anna not to antagonise Stevens further. He failed. Anna’s eyes had locked onto the teachers, her gaze unwavering. The man may have stood a good half-foot taller than her but Dylan knew that she would not be intimidated.</p><p>“Personally the first circle of hell always annoyed me. The so-called virtuous pagans struck with grief from a lack of God’s presence. It seems exceptionally unfair for those souls to be trapped for eternity within that first circle simply because there were born before Christ and thus did not receive forgiveness for original sin in the crucifixion and resurrection. Hippocrates for example, one name out of many, gave the world medicine and healed the sick, surely that is worthy of at least some note. Also on the more obvious terms, it’s ironically named as there isn’t anything particularly comedic about Dante’s soul’s journey to find god. The stages of the epic are mankind’s metaphorical struggle to transcend the stages of limbo in the first circle and rise above it to paradise, Dante accomplishes this under Virgil’s guidance without whom he wouldn’t have gotten past Hell. In which case, there doesn’t seem to be much hope for the rest of us going it alone. ”</p><p>The silence that hung in the air after Anna finished her piece was so deadpan that had someone decided to draw breath it would probably have been enough to merit one of Stevens’ infamous detentions.</p><p>“Indeed,” Mr Stevens said with a contemptuous snort that did not quite cover his second of astonished silence or his slightly agape mouth. “Since you seem so keen to offer your intellectual insights up for evaluation, would you be so kind as to offer me your appraisal on another work of literature, Miss Richards.”</p><p>Dylan watched the determined expression on Anna’s face go blank in confusion, allowing Mr Stevens the opportunity to reassert his control over the situation. A mocking smile spread from ear to ear “Tut, tut, tut. Dear me we are not quick on the uptake today are we,” Stevens mocked, extended his hand towards her. “Your literature report if you please, Miss Richards.”</p><p>“Oh shit!” Anna exclaimed, causing the entire class, including Dylan, to gasp. She was for it now.</p><p>“Silence!” Mr Stevens Barked, snapping his head around to look at the class. “This will not do, Miss Richards. Now let me think,” He paused for a moment, feigning contemplation. “An hour’s detention for arriving late to my class. Followed by a second hour for not having your literature report and…,” he paused again for thought, “…and a third hour for the expletive I think. All of which you shall do this Friday night. Now I want that report on my desk by eight am tomorrow morning or you shall do a further three hours next weekend. Do you understand?”</p><p>Dylan felt slightly dismayed when Anna held her tongue. He could not deny that he had enjoyed the spectacle and wished it could have continued. Not only did Anna deserve the teacher's derision, but it also meant that they did not have to do any work, win-win.</p><p>“Furthermore if you ever swear in my class again it will be your own metaphorical struggle to transcend the stages of limbo, without Virgil’s guidance. Do I make myself clear? Now take your seat, Miss Richards.”</p><p>That was the end of the matter.</p><p>Eventually, after what felt like an age, the bell to signal morning break and thus an end to their torment rang. After scrutinising his wristwatch Stevens eventually decided they had served their sentence; for the time being at least. Rising from his chair Dylan stretched his arms before bending over to pack up his things. Having missed homeroom he had not had the chance to catch up with Matt since he had cajoled him into blowing Anna off on Saturday. Speaking of Anna, Dylan raised his head just in time to see her storm out of the room. </p><p>Leaning forward, Dylan spoke into the ear of the boy in front, “whoa, dude, she didn’t even look at you.” Matt jumped slightly and turned to look at him. “You’re dead, dude. Plain and simple.”</p><p>Matt’s shoulders visibly sighed. “Anna won’t kill me, Dylan,” he said before turning around. “I’ll go talk to her and straighten things out.”</p><p>Though Matt gave him a smile, Dylan could tell that his friend laid some of the blame at his feet. Granted it was justified. In fact, scratch that, the whole thing had been his fault. However, Matt did not need, nor should be encouraged, to see it that way. Before Dylan could reply Matt then added, “anyway I’d better go find her. See you at lunch.”</p><p>“Be seeing you in lunch,” Dylan replied as he watched Matt leave. Deciding it unwise to linger in the devil's domain, he transcended the same path to freedom.</p><p>Outside the classroom, the hallway that housed the English department had become so crowded that there was barely room for anyone to breathe let alone move. Like so many fish in a trawler net, none that were not near the edge would likely escape. For Matt’s sake that would probably be for the best, Dylan mused. He himself had put Anna in a bad enough mood that morning already. Add to that the payload Steven’s had just dumped on top of her and the chances of homicide had probably doubled.</p><p>“So, did the condemned have a last request?” Dylan jumped at the sound of the stoic voice from beside him.</p><p>He turned and looked the speaker up and down. Taller and broader than most of their year group with short black hair and fierce dark eyes, Mark Hamilton was an imposing sight to behold. A leather jacket and absurdly large biker boots completed the dictionary definition of tough guy. All that augmented by a pair of ripped blue jeans and a tight black t-shirt that proclaimed his liking for something to do with birds and bodily noises; a space-rock band supposedly.</p><p>“Just the usual,” Dylan replied, trying to hide the fact that he had once again been startled by his much larger friend. How Mark managed to be that stealthy was beyond him. “That we eat a double cheeseburger and fries with soda in his memory at lunch.”</p><p>“That’s your lunch order, Duffus,” a third voice spat harshly.</p><p>“Nice to see you too, Nat,” Dylan sniggered. “Please feel free to interrupt my private conversation with Mark.”</p><p>The girl, known to most as Natalie, gave him a scowl. “How can you stand there and think about your stomach, when your so-called best friend is out there being slaughtered by that bitch?”</p><p>Dylan gave her a speculative look. Today she wore a long-sleeved white top, a short camel coloured skirt that came halfway down her light blue leggings to just above her knee and calf high boots. She’d tied a blue scarf around her neck in a mix of what Dylan could only imagine was either a weird attempt to match Anna’s bandanna or Penelope Pitstop from Wacky Races meets Daphne from Scooby-Doo.</p><p>Fashion sense aside why Matt had ever chosen Anna over Natalie he could not fathom. Hell, he might have gone after her himself if the brunette had not been so besotted with his best friend. Though the potentially high maintenance costs were also a factor.</p><p>“Because he might have to contemplate the healthy option if Matt doesn’t show,” Mark offered with a grin.</p><p>The scowl on Natalie’s face became more twisted and Dylan contemplated stepping sideways to try and distance himself from the potential fallout that would come from the other boy’s direction. Although nowhere near Anna scary, Natalie had bitten his head off on more than one occasion and he would rather not get caught in the blast of her wrath for no good reason. Though against the hulking form of Mark, a dirty look would probably be the best she could muster.</p><p>“That’s NOT funny, Mark!” Natalie said hotly. Angrily she swung her shoulder bag in the direction of the broad-shouldered teen. Apparently, he had misjudged the situation, Dylan thought. Facial expressions weren’t her only weap…</p><p>“Owww!” Dylan yelled as Mark deftly dodged the bulky blue bag and it came flying round into his right arm. “That hurt, Nat.”</p><p>It hadn’t really, of course. Females were inherently weak after all. Besides the bag had lost most of its momentum after it had missed Mark and not been swung with enough force behind it to do any lasting damage; regardless... “Sorry dude,” Mark said unapologetically as he punched Dylan in the exact same spot where the offending weapon had hit moments prior, probably for good measure.</p><p>“Damn it, Mark. That hurt too.”</p><p>“Oh grow up, Dylan,” Natalie said irritably. “Instead of licking your wounds you should be feeling sorry for Matt who at this very moment is probably…like… being murdered.”</p><p>“I somehow doubt that he will actually be physically killed,” Mark interjected. “Although standing up one's girlfriend is a serious offence, I doubt even Anna would risk spending the rest of her life in orange for just that. Psychological murder maybe but even then I’m sure they’ll have worked things out by the end of the week.”</p><p>A joke Dylan thought, running the comment through his Mark humour detector. Or at least he was ninety-nine percent positive… this time. He always seemed to have that problem when it came to Mark and his indifferent tone. On many an occasion, he had misread the meaning of his words and wound up being the butt of some witty remark.</p><p>“They always work it out!” Natalie retorted harshly.</p><p>It had been no secret to Dylan that Natalie had been crushing on Matt since they first set foot through Woodlake’s heavy front doors; if not before. However, Anna had underhandedly stolen him from her and so the poor girl had kept her feelings bottled up for two whole years. It was unhealthy to bottle up one's feelings Dylan had decided. Therefore it would be in everyone’s best interests that he found a way to remove that particular cork. Unfortunately, despite his best efforts, Anna and Matt always seemed to work things out in the end. The apparent strength of their relationship could be sickening at times.</p><p>“Do I detect a hint of jealousy, Natalie?” Mark asked quietly, his hands deep in his pockets and his gaze fixed out into the sea of students, away from the girl.</p><p>“I’m not Jealous, Mark. I just think she’s bad for him.” Natalie’s face seethed with rage. “I just want him to see I know what’s best for him and she isn’t it.  Besides, I know you all agree with me.”</p><p>She glared at Mark then Dylan, the latter’s eyes followed her gaze as she rounded it on a third person, so far happily ignored in the course of the conversation.</p><p>“Hey now, whoa… leave Kitty and me out of this,” Dylan said putting an arm around a small mousy haired girl and pulling her in towards him. “I’ve already taken my daily pounding from Anna and don’t want her to associate me with such mutinous talk if it reaches her stupidly sensitive ears.”</p><p>“Anna’s always been nice to me,” the girl, who normally went by Kitty, squeaked from beside him. She shifted slightly as if the close proximity of Dylan’s body chaffed on her personal space. Which, if her expression gave any sort of testimonial, it in actual fact did.</p><p>The girl’s real name wasn’t actually Kitty. However, they and the collective mass of students at Woodlake had always referred to her by it; even most of the teachers called her that. In fact, come to think of it Dylan couldn’t quite remember when the last time he had heard the girl’s actual forename being used… what was it again?</p><p>“Just keep telling yourself that, Nat and maybe someday you’ll believe it.” Dylan glanced up and saw the corners of Mark’s lips curve ever so slightly. Definitely humour this time he thought; no doubt about it. The guy was doing this on purpose now.</p><p>“Urgh. Why can’t any of you see how much of a bitch she really is? She’s rude, clearly has no care about her appearance or the impression she gives with how she dresses. It’s like she just sleeps in her clothes, rolls out of bed and turns up for school when she can be bothered. Her grades suck, she smells weird and it’ll rub off on Matt. He won’t get a good scholarship or anything if he’s associated with THAT!” She paused, slightly breathless from her outburst and tried to collect herself. “I mean come on isn’t it obvious that Matt’s going to get seriously hurt by her? Why aren’t you saying something?” she demanded.</p><p>“Probably because Anna’s already torn Dylan’s balls off and despite the ‘smell’ Kitty and I actually like her,” Mark replied again not looking at Natalie.</p><p>“Hey my balls are just fine, thank you very much,” Dylan replied hotly, inadvertently squeezing the girl he still had clung to his side tighter.</p><p>“Dylan…you’re…squeezing…too…tight…” Kitty squeaked, almost apologetically for having interrupted him.</p><p>“Of course they are. Anna’s taking very good care of them and will give them back to you once you stop acting like a moron.” The smug look on Mark’s face made Dylan want to punch him. However, he thought better of it. Doing so would no doubt only break his own knuckles.</p><p>A small chuckle escaped from behind Mark’s lips and Dylan swore internally; Bastard. He’d fallen for it yet again. With one tiny jab, his so-called friend had set him on the defensive and then blown him over with a knockout blow…. Rookie mistake.</p><p>Before he even had the chance to get back on his feet, Mark cleared his throat and removing his hands from his pockets landed a metaphorical final blow. “Besides, oh dense and hammy fisted one if I were you I’d loosen up the tension and let Kitty go or her skins going to be bluer than her eyes. Then it’ll be you wearing orange for the rest of your days.”</p><p>Dylan turned sharply and realised that he still held the girl close to his side. Instinctively he released his grip and watched her suck in a mouthful of air, casting Mark a grateful look, which was acknowledged with the slightest nod of his head. She smiled sheepishly at Dylan with an ‘I tried to tell you’ look. He had completely forgotten about her. Turning back to face Mark he opened his mouth to try and respond, to claw back some shred of dignity but was quickly cut off. </p><p>“Oh, MY GOD! Fine!” Natalie yelled at the two boys. “Worry more about your own balls and your own stupid selves than your so-called friend. But don’t either of you dare look surprised when he shows up at lunch and we have to pick up the pieces of his twisted broken heart and soul!” She took a shaky breath as they stared at her, then her bottom lip trembled. Without another word she turned on her heel and stormed off down the hallway.</p><p>“She forgets you’ll see him in phys-ed next period,” Dylan said offhandedly to Mark, hoping the observation might salvage the conversation.</p><p>“She also forgets that Anna didn’t steal Matt from her. She had ample opportunity to ask him out before Anna even showed up.”</p><p>“I think they’re cute together,” Kitty said in a whispered tone that almost got drowned out by the background chit-chatter.</p><p>“Don’t let Nat hear you say that,” Dylan and Mark warned almost simultaneously.                                                                                                                </p><p>As they spoke both boys closed in to block the small girl from the view of the hallway down which Natalie had stormed, just in case the brunette might somehow overhear and come back to maul her. Catching a glimpse of his wristwatch Dylan sighed. “We should probably head off to class.”</p><p>“You’re being overly cautious today. Have another run-in with the housekeeper?”</p><p>“Old witch almost had me this time,” he sniggered, recalling the brief glimpse he had caught of the woman’s face when he had thrown the vase into the air. “Luckily she had her hands full with something else and I managed to make an escape.”</p><p>“I’m sure she means well.” Kitty’s remark made Dylan want to pat her on the shoulder for her naivety. He always felt sorry that the poor girl held delusions about everyone being a good person deep down inside. Perhaps someday he would be able to help her realise that Mrs Mardle, Anna and many other people in the world were ultimately evil to the core. That day would not be today though as the bell to signal the end of morning break sounded.</p><p>With an unspoken agreement to meet up for lunch, like they always did, the remaining members of the group went their separate ways towards their next classes. For Dylan, it was double Chemistry. Time to blow something up before lunch. At the thought of food, his stomach growled angrily like a ravenous wolf. It’s not my fault he tried to tell it as he made his way down the hallway; his stomach disagreed.</p><p>By the time he drifted through the doorway of the chemistry class, he had made up his mind. Double cheeseburger with extra fries for lunch. Unless of course, Matt failed to show up… in which case it might be best to steer clear of anything that contained meat.</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Social protocol</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The hallways of Woodlake Academy were long, spacious and painted in the sort of neutral colours that highlighted the school as a modern, progressive institute that took itself very seriously. No shred of space was used needlessly. Each and every one of the many posters either conveyed information, dictated a rule or advertised one of the school's many clubs. And all were perfectly squared and properly affixed with tack. Classroom doors were appropriately staggered and lockers located only at appropriate points. Congestion should have been a non-issue. Yet somehow each and every time the traditional metal bells echoed throughout the building the hallways became a minefield of trouble for anyone wishing to traverse them rapidly.</p><p>Dodging past a group of Jocks with only a slight nod of his head, Matt cut straight through the middle of a gaggle of chattering cheerleaders. Emerging on the other side he had to immediately spin around a walking stack of books before ducking underneath an outstretched coffee cup. Despite his height and broad shoulders, he could be quite agile. However, when chasing the slippery red-haired teen it failed to be enough. For Anna was the sort of person for whom crowds just seemed to part.</p><p>“Anna!” Matt yelled. He dodged the protruding handle of some sort of racquet from an unknown girl’s bag. Damn it, she had turned a corner without even giving him a first glance let alone a second.</p><p>As the assembled student body closed in around him, cutting off his escape routes Matt cursed internally. How on earth does she do that? Both awe and annoyance filled him at the thought. Either she hadn’t heard him, had deliberately chosen to avoid him, or the inhabitants of Woodlake were actually trying their utmost to stave off his execution until lunchtime. Perhaps, like Dylan had suggested, they too feared finding bits of him in their meals.</p><p>Reaching the end of the hallway he turned right and caught his first real slice of luck since the sun had come up; Anna had entered an empty stairwell. Taking the stairs three at a time Matt burst out into what must surely have, at this time of day, been the only empty hallway in the whole school. Pure coincidence? Or had the rest of the staff and student body scarpered when Anna had made her stand. Like an old west gunfighter, she stood halfway along the hallway with her back to the stairs.  He realised then it was no chance encounter, she had led him here, then stopped and waited for him to catch up. Either wanting to ensure some privacy or to spare the bystanders from both the spectacle and the bloodbath. He was about to find out which.</p><p>“Anna…” his word hung in the air between them as he waited for some sort of response. For every second that she remained silent, the hairs on the back of Matt’s neck straightened further.</p><p>“Do you know what day it was on Saturday?” Anna’s words were soft and lacking the cutting edge that Matt had anticipated. However, for some reason, his brain chose to ignore this observation and blurted out a reply.</p><p>“Umm…Saturday?” he blinked stupidly.</p><p>“Maybe I should have been more specific and asked you what date it was.” Anna had still not turned around. With trepidation, Matt raised one foot. “The eleventh. Not that it really matters now.” His foot hung in the air much like Anna’s words. What had been so special about the eleventh? Hastily Matt cycled through important dates in his head, ruling out her birthday, April seventeenth, his own and their anniversary on December eighteenth.</p><p>“If you’re done cycling through dates you can put your foot down.”</p><p>The sole of Matt’s trainer clumsily met the well-polished floor and he realised that it had remained frozen mid-step. Shifting his body weight in order to maintain his balance his eyes fixed themselves on the back of Anna’s crimson hair. Four weeks ago he had been stumped on what to buy her for a birthday present so he had asked her what she would like. Of all the responses she could have given red hair had not been one he would ever have expected. Then again such unpredictability played a part in why he loved her. Like right now for instance. By this point, the flayed remains of his carcass should have been on their way down to the kitchens.</p><p>“Three years ago last Saturday, you decided to dedicate yourself to making the ice hockey team,” Anna said softly, barely a breath, she sounded tired.</p><p>Matt’s face fell, realisation hitting him in the gut as though she had punched him, and he had seen first-hand what one of her punches could do.</p><p>“You’ve come a long way since then. Not only did you make the team but you’re now captain. I thought you might have wanted to celebrate.”</p><p>Anna’s tone held a deep sadness that made Matt wish that she had actually punched him. Or shouted at him, shouting would have been better. Though focusing solely on his role in events, the brief history lesson did enough to remind Matt of the whole story. The day in question three years ago had also been the day on which the pair had first spoken to each other in almost six years.</p><p>It had been by pure coincidence that Anna had been in earshot while he laid out his plans for after finals. However, it had been her that had initiated the conversation that would ultimately change his life. After he had received a mixture of well-meant comments of backing from Natalie and urging from Dylan to forget the whole thing and join his newly formed deathmatch squad, Anna’s voice had cut through both and offered him actual help.</p><p>As the memory of the event washed over him, like being doused with a water bottle full of guilt, any thoughts of making an excuse or trying to rationalise his mistake died and turned to ash in his mouth. Though she would never admit it, he could tell by her tone that in some way Anna felt hurt. To think he had spent the entire morning feeling sorry for himself and his fate… Never once did he contemplate that she might actually be upset, not angry.</p><p>“Anna I’m…I’m really sorry,” Matt said slowly. Of all the overblown ways he had imagined apologising to her that morning none of them had contained even a shred of the sincerity close to matching this one.</p><p>“I know you are.”</p><p>When Anna’s words reached his ears she finally turned around to face him. Over the sunshine reflecting off the polished floor, brown eyes met her green ones and Matt instantly felt worse. It was not so much sorrow he saw but rather sheer disappointment. Closing the distance between them he couldn’t help but notice that her t-shirt seemed slightly baggier than he recalled it being the last time she had worn it. Perhaps it had fallen victim to a bad wash cycle.</p><p>“Is there anything I can do to make up for it?” he asked his expression imploring her to name her demand.</p><p>Slowly he reached out his right hand and took hold of her left. She didn’t resist but neither did she return the gesture. Gently he rubbed his thumb across the indentations that lay over her knuckles. Her once rough palms had softened over the past two years and her pale skin felt cold to the touch.</p><p>“No,” came the response. Blunt and her tone had hardened somewhat. Was this about to turn into a breakup conversation?</p><p>Matt’s heart sank, the sickening thought creeping into his mind. He hadn’t even contemplated that in his morning mopes and muses. “Anna…”</p><p>“What’s done is done,” she cut in. “You can’t just do one thing because you failed to do another and then hope it balances the books. Just like you can’t turn back the clock and correct your mistake.”</p><p>It felt to Matt that Anna’s fierce eyes were piercing through his own like needles. Moments like this always reminded him that, despite how low he felt right now, the outward feature he loved most about Anna were her eyes. The eyes, it was said, often acted as a window into someone’s soul and at the moment it was showing a mixture of torment and pure hard steel.</p><p>“Anna, please… Just… Just kick me in the balls or something.” Yeah, that would help his brain admonished upon hearing his own words. “Just don’t break up with me. Please”</p><p>Anna’s lips twitched slightly and Matt cocked his head. The slight movement had been enough to tell him she was stifling one of her devilish grins. He’d just made an absolute idiot of himself. Hadn’t he?</p><p>“I’d take you up on that offer but I’d be afraid that you’d actually like it. Perhaps I should just cut them off and keep them till you stop acting like a moron.”</p><p>The change in Anna’s tone from soft and sincere to her normal one of confident certainty mixed with a pinch of cocky and a dash of evil signified to Matt that he was not about to be short one girlfriend… at least not today. His moment of elation failed to move the conversation on any so Anna continued.</p><p>“My place. Friday night. Bring Chinese food and Pepsi. And we’ll forget Saturday ever happened.”</p><p>“Ok,” Matt replied without really thinking. “What time?”</p><p>“I’ll be home for just after nine so give me half an hour to freshen up. And make sure the foods hot when you get there otherwise we’ll be eating it cold.”</p><p>There went half his allowance for the week. So much for the new pair of running shoes he had been thinking of buying. Still, an evening alone with Anna would be nice. Not to mention it may prove to be invaluable once his literature report came back later in the week. Over the last six months too few had been the occasions where they were able to have some alone time and only now, having had the fear of losing Anna all together, did he realise just how much he missed it. He had been a complete and utter idiot letting Dylan distract him on Saturday. He would let nothing get in the way this time.</p><p>He felt his chest heave a breath of air he had apparently been holding in. All of his muscles relaxed like a tightly coiled spring coming unwound. He looked at her, full in the face and lost himself in the green of her eyes. After a few moments of silence where they simply looked at each other Anna reached up and pecked him on the cheek. A stupidly happy grin erupted across his face and when she pulled away he felt a warm fuzzy feeling deep within him and the world stabilised….life was good. In a second his newfound sense of euphoria vanished and Anna’s hand locked onto his upper arm with a grip like an iron vice pulling him down to her level. The dash of evil in her tone became a barrel load as she whispered directly into his ear.</p><p>“If you ever stand me up again you had best hope your next girlfriend doesn’t want to have your children.” A short sharp pain in his earlobe followed her words and she let go of his hand.</p><p>“What was that for?” Matt exclaimed, rubbing the spot where she had just bitten him.</p><p>“Let’s just say I’m marking my territory.” Her devilish grin now on full display. “You should be thankful that the pain will only last a few seconds and that I didn’t decide to draw blood. Anyway, you had better go. The bells about to ring and if you hadn’t already noticed this is not the smelly Phys.Ed part of the school. This is the pulse point of the soul, the music hallway. You’re about as far away from the gym as you can get and still be inside the building.” She smiled, sweetly and Matt knew that in part Anna had led him here deliberately. Though she had double music next, he knew that look far too well.</p><p>He smiled in return at her and leant in to give her a quick kiss not wanting to leave her now when he felt he had only just gotten her back. Instantly her lips attached themselves to his own, moments passed their heartbeats intermingling so that he could feel a 4 beat rhythm that seemed to also mimic the clock ticking closer to the bell. Reluctantly he had to force himself to break contact she followed slightly for a second before finally breaking off leaving him again breathless. She really knew how to twist things into a punishment. The only saving grace being that he hadn’t already changed into his gym shorts.</p><p>Freeing himself from his girlfriend’s clutches Matt only had a second to register the pretend pout that formed on her face before the sound of the bell filled his ears and he had to turn and bolt towards the stairs. Yelling, “See you at Lunch!” over his shoulder.</p><p>Well, that had turned out better than he could have hoped for he thought as he began to descend rapidly. Then again, he had not expected to leave only to find himself aching to be back with her. Fate, like Anna, had a funny way of tormenting people he decided, once more finding himself in the midst of the traditional Woodlake trawler net. His last thought before he began forcing his way through to get to the Gym in some semblance of time was again, how rumpled and baggy Anna’s t-shirt had been. Maybe he could use what little would be left of his allowance to buy her a new one.</p><p>##</p><p>Lunchtime arrived, something for which Matt was most thankful. For the duration of double Phys-Ed the coach had pitted half the class against the other in an intense game of volleyball. Like always Matt had captained one side against Mark’s well-drilled opposition. Out of the gym, the pair were good friends but when pitted against one another they transformed into the fiercest of rivals. Sides had been chosen, the battleground declared and for the next two hours, all-out war had reigned supreme.</p><p>Mark’s team always had the edge when it came to volleyball, his juggernaut-esqu physique giving him a height and strength advantage over everyone else in the class. Not to mention that he had a good tactical mind to go with it. Match after match this year had ended in a pounding for Matt’s team so the fact that they had somehow salvaged a tie made him the much happier of the two, come the bell to signal lunch.</p><p>“So Anna didn’t kill you then?” Mark asked when Matt filled in behind him in the lunch queue.</p><p>Matt laughed. He had to hand it to Mark. Any normal person would have more likely asked something like, ‘so what are you having for lunch’, rather than discuss the lack of homicide.</p><p>“I guess she just tore out your tongue then,” Mark continued when he failed to reply. Only then did Matt realise that he had not spoken a word to his friend, which had not been some sort of volleyball related curse, all morning. “Don’t worry I’m sure Anna’s keeping it safe for you. Right next to Dylan’s balls.”</p><p>He had obviously missed a joke at some point Matt realised, picking up a lunch tray and sliding it along the metal rails that ran in front of the food counters. “I’d rather not have my tongue anywhere near Dylan’s balls,” he replied sharply.</p><p>“I’m sure Dylan would agree. Especially if you’d been kissing Anna beforehand. He’d probably think he’d catch some highly deadly form of cooties.”</p><p>The pair simultaneously burst out laughing as they both stretched out a hand to grab the same dish of pasta. Just like that friendship evaporated and rivalry once more took hold, albeit momentarily. Futilely he tried to wrestle the plastic dish from Mark’s iron like grip. A moment later and the dish had slipped from his grasp and found itself a home on his opponent’s tray.</p><p>“Douche,” Matt exclaimed in annoyance, shrugging his shoulders.</p><p>“Here,” Mark said, shifting the container over onto Matt’s tray, a smirk forming on his stony face. “You need it more than I do. It’s got enough garlic in it to help get the taste of Dylan’s balls off your tongue.”</p><p>Matt had no comeback as he stared up at the other boy his mouth agape. In outrage, he snatched a bottle of water from the drinks chiller and added it to his tray. A red apple soon joined it. </p><p>“That’ll be four dollars twenty,” the irritable voice of an elderly woman said from behind the counter, glaring at him disapprovingly. Clearly, she had not been impressed by the minor fracas only moments prior. </p><p>“Sorry,” Matt said apologetically. He dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out some coins. “Here,” he handed the woman the correct change and hastily made his way out of her queue.</p><p>Picking his way across yet another one of Woodlake’s metaphorical minefields Matt made his way towards the back of the hall where the rest of his friends were already sat at their usual table. From behind him Mark appeared and sat down beside kitty, across from whom sat Dylan and Natalie. Both girls were sitting with sandwiches and salad while Dylan had opted for his usual junk option; today a double cheeseburger with fries. On Mark’s other side at the far end of the table sat Anna. Instead of food, she had a pad of paper and pen.  As he pulled the empty chair beside Dylan out from underneath the table the other boy turned to look at him. </p><p>“Matgha!” Dylan exclaimed while trying to swallow a fistful of fries “Dude, buddy, you’re alive!”</p><p>Dylan gave him a critical look, similar the one he had received from Mark earlier. Was it normal for all your friends count your limbs after a confrontation with your girlfriend? Then again, other people did not have Anna for a girlfriend. Not that he would accept it as an excuse to stare rudely and pass inappropriate comments in front of her. </p><p>A grin slowly spread across his face. “Why wouldn’t I be?”</p><p>Putting his lunch tray down on the table Matt sat down and momentarily turned his gaze towards Anna, who did not look up from her notepad. Her literature report for Stevens he surmised. His smile faltered slightly and a crease formed between his eyebrows. Had she only just started it? The assignment had been dished out two weeks ago.</p><p>“Good afternoon, Matt.” Anna’s voice though soft and well-spoken cut through Matt’s thought process like lightning through a cloud. Even when she spoke calmly her voice always seemed to carry some form of edge to it.</p><p>“Hi, Anna,” he replied, his momentary confusion about her report gone. He tore the lid off his somewhat undeserved pasta bowl and dug in.</p><p>For the next five minutes, Matt was oblivious to everything other than his lunch and own internal musings. In retrospect, his day could not have gone any better. He had moved his team significantly closer to a victory over Mark, avoided death by Anna and had landed a nice quiet evening alone with her into the bargain.  So, naturally, something had to go wrong. Life didn’t let you be a jerk and then get away with it without consequence. But if it had not been Anna then what…</p><p>“Hey, Hey, folks!” a foreign voice said in perhaps the most upbeat and self-gratifying manner Matt had ever heard. It belonged to Raymond; one of the boys from their year. Clutched at either side by his small hands were two of the school cheerleaders, giggling and smiling away like every word he said were in itself a stand-up punch line. Matt frowned at them in slight disbelief for a second then felt his body relax. Cheerleaders yes, though two of the lesser cheerleaders he noted; certainly not varsity. On seeing he had captured the undivided attention of almost every person at the table (no doubt why the cheerleaders were there to begin with) the boy continued.</p><p>“Soooo…. Big party coming up. How do I know? Cause I’m the one throwing it of course! My place. This Friday. No adults. The only rules are…there are No rules. Except stay off the roses but who wants to trample things of beauty anyway?!  And talking of things of beauty!” he turned a huge grin to the females in the group one by one. “For the ladies, a plethora of single gentlemen all screened and checked by yours truly and looking for love long term or just for the night if you get my meaning.” He winked and made a clicking noise. “And for you single gents…” his gaze then travelled between Mark and Dylan. “Plenty of single ladies…” he continued in the same vein as Matt turned him out for a second. Choosing to focus instead on the boy’s hands which were trailing down and squeezing the backsides of the two cheerleaders, causing them to giggle more. “… The long and short folks is there are plenty of things to offer and opportunities for you to show whoever a good time. We also have a pool and hot tub for those of you interested in a little bit of wet fun. Not that it’s gonna be dry for those who keep their clothes on eh girls?” He clicked again, winking at his companions and at the same time causing Matt’s nose to wrinkle</p><p>“You had me at Hey. Sign me up now dude.”</p><p>Matt shook his head at Dylan’s over-eager reply. Regardless of what he said, Raymond had probably managed to buy his attendance before even opening his mouth. From the weasel-faced boy’s side, the cheerleader closest to Dylan blew him a kiss. Why on earth did girls always seem to fall over themselves when it came to Dylan? Not for the first time had this conundrum crossed Matt’s mind. His best friend defied both the laws of the schoolyard and the universe. Dylan was a geek, full stop. No if’s, buts or maybe’s about it. Comic books, computer games, sci-fi, dungeons and dragons, Dylan loved it all. Yet the gods had seen fit to give him good looks, eyesight, average height, a wealthy father and good social skills into the bargain. The only blemish on his perfect state being his athletic ineptitude and the slightly crooked part of his nose that had happened years before. Matt’s eyes trailed to Anna who sat with her notepad looking uninterested.</p><p>“Might be fun,” the dulcet tones of Mark pitched in. The boy received a flutter of eyelashes from the second cheerleader for his lukewarm response Matt noticed. Not that his friend paid them any attention, instead he smiled warmly and looking at Kitty who blushed furiously and turned her head away from his gaze ever so slightly, smiling coyly.</p><p>Apparently, the cheerleaders were not just eye candy and were paying out at different rates depending on the eagerness of the potential male patrons. That only led him to wonder what the girls were getting if they agreed to come. He didn’t have to wonder long, Natalie being next to sell her soul.</p><p>“Sounds good to me. I’m in.”</p><p>Matt watched a sly grin form on Raymond’s lips when he winked at Natalie. Popular, well dressed, good looking and above all else still single the chocolate haired girl was considered quite a catch. However, in Matt’s opinion, well out of Raymond’s league.</p><p>“I might be able to go for a little while,” Kitty then added softly on the back of the other girls’ commitment her eyes looking directly at Mark and her smile now soft. Matt considered the exchange between them for a split second but another interruption, this time from Raymond, drove the thought from his head.</p><p>“All right that’s the two gents and the lovely ladies at this table.”</p><p>Raymond’s over-exuberant tone had become irritating now Matt thought, turning his head to gaze upon a patch of Anna’s bright hair that glistened in a stray beam of sunlight. It felt strangely soothing but as he watched it he considered how Raymond had not included Anna in his sweeping ‘Lovely ladies’ commentary.</p><p>“Now please remember to keep the skirts high and the tops low.”</p><p>Matt heard Natalie make an ‘Urgh’ sound at Raymond’s elongate ‘ow’. However, if the weasel-faced boy heard he took no notice.</p><p>“So, Matt, how about it? Everyone else is going. You don’t wanna be left out do ya?”</p><p>Matt had to tear his eyes away from Anna in order to give Raymond a polite response. Fixing his gaze upon him one of the cheerleaders decided to add words of enticement. </p><p>“Come on Matt. We promise we’ll take good care of you.” </p><p>Matt felt his eyes slowly wander back to Anna. She hadn’t looked up or given any other indication that she was aware of the conversation since it had started. “Sorry, Ray, I’ve got plans with Anna,” he said with all of the politeness he could muster.</p><p>“Hey, we cater for couples also.” He shrugged as if about to make a huge sacrifice. “I suppose you could bring her along if you have to.”</p><p>A flash of anger coursed through Matt upon hearing the grudging resentment in Raymond’s tone. It was no secret to Matt that the general consensus of the student body held Anna to be a weirdo and someone they did not want to associate with. However, Matt also knew that Raymond would be desperate for him to go to his party and felt the other boy could at least have made some sort of effort to hide his displeasure. </p><p>“No, Raymond, I’ve got plans with my girlfriend.” He kept his tone level but firm. In the hopes that Raymond would simply accept this, he added, “alone.”</p><p>The entire table bar Anna stared at him; both Dylan and Natalie with looks of horror on their faces. Raymond was the first to regain composure and tried a different approach.</p><p>“You do know what you’re implying here right?” he said as if Matt had declared himself a rooster. “You know that not showing up to the biggest party of the year is like social suicide?”</p><p>“He’s right, Matt,” Natalie echoed without looking at him. “If you don’t go everyone will start to think you’re seriously uncool. Lame even!”</p><p> “Yeah, Dude, your social standing will be lucky to survive yet another bombshell,” Dylan chipped in.</p><p>The anger returned with a vengeance and Matt clenched his fist under the table. He knew perfectly well that by ‘another bombshell’ Dylan counted dating Anna as the first. Since the day she had re-entered his life, Dylan had picked up the dislike he had held for Anna six years prior and had not dropped it since. Even though Anna reciprocated this feeling, some small part of Matt had hoped that the two of them might find a way of burying the hatchet that did not involve an actual blade embedding itself into either of their heads; most likely Dylan’s.</p><p>Is this how he would be punished Matt wondered? Had blowing Anna off to spend time with Dylan ultimately led him back towards the same choice he had been faced with all those years ago? If so then whatever god had decided this fate was a cruel and twisted motherfucker. </p><p>“Look, Dude, if you don’t show it’s your own funeral,” Raymond said in a serious way like it actually would be an occasion of mourning – the death of Matt’s social standing. He’d had enough of this Matt thought. Even if he had to be blunt he needed to put an end to this. When he opened his mouth to do so a new voice entered the dispute.</p><p>“Why exactly is it his funeral?”</p><p>It belonged to Anna. Matt turned to look at her but the girl still had eyes only for her notebook, her pen flying across the page. For a moment he wondered if he had only imagined her voice but a reply from Raymond quickly extinguished that idea.</p><p>“Uhh Duh? Because it’s going to be the biggest party of the year and only losers won’t be there.”</p><p>“Are you sure?” Anna then asked in a voice feigning a naivety that Matt knew far too well. If Raymond wasn’t careful he could soon find himself needing a quick exit strategy.</p><p>“Well yeah. Of course. It’s going to be…” </p><p>“…Yes the biggest party of the year, so you keep saying. “ She kept writing. “If that’s the case why have you been so worried ever since Matt neglected to respond to your…” she paused in her writing for a second and waved her pen pointing it between the two cheerleaders, “shall we say, initial invite?”</p><p>Anna’s words cut through the air and hit Raymond with more force than Matt could have delivered with his hockey stick. He could see it on the boy’s face that Anna had nailed him where it hurt though he could not quite fathom the reason why. It must have had something to do with the fact she was still not giving him eye contact or even looking up.</p><p>Raymond licked his lips and forced a diluted smile back onto his face, “I’m not worried.”</p><p>The words tumbled out of the weasel-faced boy’s mouth and Matt could see that his face had gone a slightly off scarlet. He now stared daggers at the top of Anna’s head.</p><p>A slight smile played at the corners of Anna’s mouth, “aren’t you.”</p><p>And there it came, Anna’s trademark. The throwaway question that offered her victim an out. A single chance to retract their words, count their losses and get the hell out of there. Matt had failed to notice it on more than one occasion himself while Dylan remained oblivious to it even though he found himself on the receiving end at least once a week. </p><p>“Why the hell would I be worried?” Raymond spat, trying to go on the offensive.</p><p>Idiot, Matt thought. Though part of him felt that Raymond wholly deserved what was coming.</p><p>“It’s quite simple really,” Anna’s tone cool and her words precise. “Matt’s more popular than you. And that’s before we take into account that he’s captain of the hockey team.”</p><p>Matt didn’t know who to look at, his gaze darted between the pair. On one hand, he quite liked the idea of watching Raymond squirm but on the other… there was something quite mesmerising about how Anna managed to remain so placid while devouring someone. Like a documentary they had seen about a praying mantis in Science. But Anna hadn’t finished speaking, he zoned back in.</p><p>“The hockey team might not be the football team but they are still major players when it comes to the social ladder. What’s more, they all like and respect their captain.” She pointed the pen at him for a second then went back to her notes.</p><p>How someone could hold such command over a conversation while not even looking at their opponent was beyond Matt. He watched Anna strike a line through something she had written.</p><p>“Now if it just so happened that the captain of the hockey team decided that a social event wasn’t important enough for him to go to, then the entire team might come to the same conclusion. Naturally, of course, the girlfriends of the team members would then likely decide not to go without their boyfriends. Of course, one or two girls is all it takes to destabilise the rest...” She paused and Matt saw her pen write something quickly. “…It’s simply a case of the butterfly effect. But you already know all this don’t you, Raymond.”</p><p>Catching a brief glimpse of their faces Matt could see that Natalie and Dylan held dumbstruck expressions similar to Raymond’s. The girls to whom the later now seemed to be clutching onto for support looked to be contemplating ditching their host. Matt also didn’t fail to notice that Mark had a slight smirk on his face and that Kitty had tried to bow out of proceedings by producing a book of poems, which she almost set alight by the sheer intensity of her stare.</p><p>After a moment’s silence that felt like an eternity, Raymond rallied for a final assault. “Oh yeah? Well. Well…What on earth would you know about it, you social reject.”</p><p>Matt almost shared in Mark’s smirk, the rage in Raymond’s voice quite amusing. If that had been his best shot Anna might not leave him with enough pieces to properly reassemble himself.</p><p>Anna sighed, almost sounding disappointed in the angry tone her opponent had used. “I don’t have to care about my own social standing to be able to understand the concept or the rules. At the end of the day, I’ve accepted who I am and am happy about it.” Her tone suddenly shifted to one that could pierce its way through steel. “But Have you, Raymond? Have you accepted who you are? Have you accepted the fact that at best you’re only on the second tier of the social ladder? Hence the second rate fashion always just behind the others, the second string cheerleaders and the personal invites to a party that you can’t trust the simple word of mouth to capture enough guests for. Have you accepted all of that and the fact no matter what you do, no matter how hard you try, you can never quite make it amongst the Sancti in Paradiso.”</p><p>Ok, she had lost him now Matt thought. The ‘what in where’? While his mind tried to figure out what on earth Anna had meant he saw her gaze shoot up from her notepad and lock onto Raymond’s. To Matt, it appeared as though his girlfriend’s piercing green eyes were ablaze with an almost demonic like inferno that could simultaneously end any argument and burn a hole into their target with laser-like precision. He had a mad split second where he almost knocked Kitty’s book aside to keep her safe from any potential crossfire. </p><p>“Tell us, Raymond,” Anna continued, her gaze now seemingly petrifying her victim and rooting him to the spot. “Does your craving for social acceptance amongst your peers stem from a lack of attention at home? Or does it come from something much deeper than that?” At that point, Matt heard the subtle change in her tone to one of almost friendliness. “You can tell us, Raymond. It’s not as if you’re the only person here with that affliction. We could have a group therapy session.”</p><p>Matt didn’t know whether he should laugh or feel sorry for the boy. Raymond’s face had gone the same shade of red as his destroyer’s hair and looked like he wanted nothing more than to be anywhere doing anything else. A quick glance at the table told Matt that no one would come to Raymond’s rescue, Natalie and Dylan held expressions dark and almost unreadable while Kitty’s grip on her book had tightened to the point her knuckles had turned white. Mark had lost interest and sat watching Kitty quietly. The two cheerleaders had now disentangled themselves from their master and were slowly edging away while the occupants of some nearby tables had turned to watch. After a short period of silence, Raymond rediscovered his voice.</p><p>“You’ll pay for that, Mark me well you spiteful bitch you’ll regret saying that to me,” He blurted, squaring his shoulders.</p><p>“If the best you’ve got is petty name calling, empty threats and some shoulder movements then I’m disappointed.”</p><p>Without another glance Matt watched Anna return her focus to the report in front of her. Raymond growled before he fired his parting remark. “You had better watch your back, Bitch.”</p><p>“Goodbye to you too, Raymond,” Anna sighed as she re-read a paragraph and with a shake of her head put a cross through the entire thing.</p><p>The weasel-faced boy stormed off and Matt decided that though he wanted things to return to the state they had been in before the altercation, to the status quo, there was zero chance of it actually happening. Once the dust settled the badgering would begin and he would be forced to continuously reaffirm his decision to spend Friday night with Anna. The only solution would be to escape. Pushing his chair out from under the table he picked up his bag and tray.</p><p>“I need some air,” he declared, tucking the chair back in. “I’ll see you guys later.”</p><p>Without waiting for a response he took one last agonising look at Anna, whose hair still caught the light, then turned to disappear amidst the mines. From back at the table he heard a single clear voice say, “goodbye, Matt,” and he knew who it belonged to.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Hitting the rocks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Stars glistened like diamonds in the darkened sky, the waning moon augmenting their splendour with an eerie glow. Along the skyline, there were scarce few lights to be seen. While down at street level the few surviving street lamps did little to keep the shadows at bay. Amongst the shrouded and silent buildings, a single-storied structure was holding its own against the looming darkness. From its windows light spilt forth while a green and red neon sign above the doorway that read ‘Joe’s Rock’ made it the most distinguishable dwelling around.</p><p>Outside the front door of ‘Joe’s Rock,’ a man stood on the sidewalk; a lit cigarette in his hand. Just shy of six foot he had broad shoulders with grizzled black facial hair that partially obscured an old crescent-shaped scar on his right cheek. Clad in black pants and battered old leather boots and jacket, any passer-by would have been forgiven for thinking he was a biker, except there were no motorbikes around. Slowly he raised his hand and took a long draw of his roll-up. The end glowed bright orange and the paper burnt up towards his fingers. A lump of hot ash fell to the ground. Carelessly he dropped the butt, exhaled a plume of thick grey smog and crushed it underfoot.</p><p>Casually he turned around and headed for the door into the bar; it creaked when he opened it. Inside, the small room had been crammed with round brown wood tables each with an array of un-matching chairs surrounding them. On just about every tabletop sat at least one emptied glass yet upon scanning the room he could see only a handful of other patrons. Forcing his way between the tables and towards the bar he took in the décor. Stained wood panels covered the walls and bar front while a dirty short pile green carpet lay underfoot. On the ceiling, several spotlights and, strangely, a giant old mirror with a tarnished brass rim were embedded providing ample lighting. No art adorned the walls save for the hefty collection of old state licence plates along with several faded bits of memorabilia pertaining to the local football, baseball and hockey teams. A game of some sort played on the TV behind the bar, emphasising the owners liking of sports.</p><p>Two men in checked shirts and jeans played pool on a faded blue table that had clearly seen better days. Some sort of acoustic guitar music leaked from the old-fashioned jukebox that had been squeezed into the far corner, though more a trickle of sound than the general roar of indecipherable noise one normally found in this sort of place.</p><p>When he finally made it past the last of the tables the man couldn’t help but feel that all eyes in the room were on him. Perhaps he’d wandered into a regular’s only sort of place. That would explain the air of tension and the distinct lack of chatter. He didn’t let it bother him. He had drunk in most of the bars in this part of the city, many of them a lot rougher than this place. Taking his time he sat down on the bar stool second from the edge and rested his elbows atop the counter.</p><p>“What’s your poison, Mac?” the barman asked almost instantly, limping over and wiping his hands first with the towel over his shoulder, then on the apron around his waist.</p><p>The man could sense the collective gaze of the room squarely fixed upon the back of his head, everyone waiting to see what he would do before returning to their own business. He locked eyes with the barman then gave him an appraising sweep, took in his arms thick and inked and the steely expression he held. The barman’s fingers twitched slightly towards the counter. No doubt going for a baseball bat or some other such nonsense. He had the air of someone that people generally listened to. Yet the girth of his waistline coupled with his balding blonde hair and a greying horseshoe moustache suggested that he was well past his prime.</p><p> “Beer,” he replied eventually in a gruff Hispanic voice and the collective hush suddenly released. Chatter started up again as if nothing had happened. Even the music seemed louder.</p><p>“You got a name stranger?” the barman then asked offhandedly though much more amicably, picking up a glass and holding it up to the nearest tap.</p><p>A few tense moments passed between them before the patron gruffly replied, “Ramone.”</p><p>“Aint seen you roun’ these part’s before,” the barman said wiping the glass off and offering it over the bar. Though by no means an expert on accents, Ramone could tell the man originated from the south. “I’m just passing through,” he said taking the presented drink.</p><p>A lie of course though it was not likely the bartender would see him again to call him out on it. Averting his gaze he took a long drink in the hopes that the… unknown… barman would take the hint and leave him alone. After an argument with his ‘boss’ the previous night, every bar, seedy hole in the wall or coffee cart he had gone to, other members of Los sin techo, the organisation to which he belonged, had been there already and had done nothing but irritate him. Hence why he had found this joint.</p><p>Besides their headquarters, there were several bars and other establishments that the members liked to frequent. However, this place was not one of them and if he had never been here before then neither had any of the others.</p><p>“Your bike out front?” bartender Bob asked; polishing a glass. He held it up to the light and peered at it one eye squinting then started polishing again.</p><p>So much for avoiding conversation, Ramone thought bitterly as he took another drink; the beer wasn’t properly chilled. “I don’t ride,” he said pulling a face.</p><p>“That’s a shame.” When the man spoke Ramone heard the scraping of a stool being dragged across the floor and realised that the barman had just sat down. “I used to ride an ol’ FXS Low Rider back in the day.” Ramone looked at him blankly; he didn’t know the first thing about motorcycles. “That’s a 1979 model Harley to the uninitiated. I must’a ridden her up and down route 66 more times than I’ve served frosted beers.”</p><p>Ramone held his tongue, he should have taken his drink to one of the tables. Draining his beer he placed the glass down on top of the woodwork with a thunk and started fishing in his pockets for his zippo and a smoke.</p><p>“I’ll pour you another,” the barman offered, whipping the glass off of the bar and holding it back under the tap at a stretch.</p><p>Watching the cloudy liquid begin to flow, he became aware of another person now on his side of the bar.</p><p>“Evnin’ friend,” a short man in a blue shirt and brown pants said from his left. Ramone didn’t bother to answer, did everyone in this place come from the damn south? He huffed a sigh on discovering he’d run out of roll-ups and busied himself with the process of making some more. This didn’t seem to bother the newcomer as he directed his attention to the bartender instead, “same again, Joe.”</p><p>“That’s your third one tonight, Sammy. Best make it your last or Bessie will have your skin,” Joe replied reaching for another glass.</p><p>Great, the bartender knew the first names of his boozers and their bitches. This was not the sort of place a member of Los sin techo should be frequenting. Though granted that had been the objective. He’d have a quick smoke followed by an even quicker drink then head for home. Pulling a tobacco pouch from his outside jacket pocket he expertly rolled a single cigarette while the bartender sat down his beer and Sammy’s drink. Clicking his zippo into life, he brought both up to his face…</p><p>“Hold on son you can’t light up that there rollie in my bar.”</p><p>Ramone looked up at the bartender, the smoke between his teeth. He lowered the lighter. “Why the fuck not?”</p><p>“It’s that there law they darned passed.” The bartender pointed to a placard behind the bar that dictated the Smoke-Free Illinois Act of 2008 and the consequences of breaking it. “Where you been of late?”</p><p>“Aww screw that,” he admonished flicking the zippo back into life. He was so sick and tired of people telling him what to do of late.</p><p>“Joe said no,” blue-shirted Sammy butt in, turning back to look at Ramone.</p><p>“So shit,” he spat around the smoke.</p><p>All of a sudden the blue-shirted man shot an arm out and caught hold of Ramone’s raised lighter hand. “Joe. Said. No!” he repeated firmly, dull grey eyes locking onto beetle-black ones.</p><p>Ramone looked at the hand the man gripped his wrist with and then to his freckled face. Balling his free fist he shot out a punch and caught him square in the nose, sending him hurtling towards the nearest table. Sammy crashed into it with a loud thud, the sound of shattering glass ringing out while someone elsewhere in the room shout the words “Jesus. H Christ!” Not satisfied with having floored the man Ramone closed in on him and was about to unleash a furious boot to his abdomen when a loud double click sound from behind him made him freeze. Apparently not a baseball bat after all.</p><p>“Ok son. You turn and leave Sammy be, nice and slow like,” Joe the bartender demanded. Ramone slowly rotated to face him and his now primed shotgun. “Now get the hell out of my bar!”</p><p>“Screw you,” he spat, tugging on the lapels of his jacket. Still, he elected not to hang around. Passing the now stunned patrons he quickly barged through the tables towards the door. A look passed between a few burly men in front of him and for a second he wondered if they would stop him and avenge their friend’s honour. “You okay there, Sammy?” he heard the bartender say behind him and the men stepped back. He reached the door and kicked it open and stepped back out into the shadowy street.</p><p>Outside he was eventually able to light his smoke in peace. Taking a puff he thought for a moment about finding another bar but decided against it. He’d had enough of people for one day. Shoving his hands deep into his pockets Ramone meandered along the sidewalk in the general direction of home. He wasn’t exactly enthralled with the idea of heading straight back to his residence, where another argument probably awaited him. However, any other stops along the way were sure to just aggravate his already bad mood before he eventually did return to the inevitable fight.</p><p>To say that things had been rocky between him and his partner of late would have been an understatement. Bitches be crazy sometimes. All the time actually over the past, what… two years. Had it really been that long? It had Ramone realised. Just over two years had passed since the pier five incident. Two years since everything had changed. The sidewalk seemed to swim in front of him and suddenly the scene shifted. No longer was he walking home, the tarmac becoming wooden boards…</p><p>…The memories of two years ago slowly receded and Ramone realised he now stood outside his front door. Rummaging around in his pocket for his keys he heard the faint click of the lock and the door swung open.</p><p>“Well lookie what the cat finally decided to drag home,” the familiar voice of a woman said from behind the woodwork; her name was Maria. “Drunk as a skunk”</p><p>Before he could reply Maria had already turned away and disappeared down the hallway. That was a bad sign Ramone thought, a bubble of anger welling up inside him upon hearing the woman’s tone of loathing. How dare that bitch walk away from him? Slamming the door behind him Ramone couldn’t contain himself. “¿No te alejes de mí perra!” he yelled out after her.</p><p>“Ir a la mierda!” came the reply, the sound of Maria’s heels audible on the floor. As he walked down the hallway she suddenly appeared in one of the door frames. “Don’t you say that shit to me, you lazy-ass motherfucker. I worked two jobs today to put food on that table.” She pointed a long bejewelled fingernail to the folding dinner table in the kitchen behind her.</p><p>“Rubbing that fat fucking Cuban ass of yours up and down a pole isn’t a fucking j…” Maria’s hand came out of nowhere and caught him across the left cheek producing a wicked slapping sound that echoed briefly down the hallway.</p><p>“Oh hell no! Uh-uh.” She held a finger up; and waggled it at him as she continued “First of all I ain't fat dip-shit, second don’t you try telling me what I can and can’t do with my ass or you ain't going to be seeing it anytime soon.”</p><p>Ramone looked her up and down, a lustful look spreading across his face. Her short five foot five stature was augmented somewhat by six-inch heels, while the gold stockings, mini skirt and bra ensemble showed off her supple legs, thin waistline and light cleavage perfectly. Her long curled hair cascaded down her back like a velvet curtain and Ramone could see that there were bleached blonde ringlets amongst the ebony. When had she done that?</p><p>“Maybe you want me to fuck that ass of yours, coming home dressed like that,” he barked, grabbing her by the waistline and spinning her around so her backside pressed up against his now throbbing groin.</p><p>“Third, you drunken motherfucker, I am not someone you can just use when the feeling takes you then toss away once you’re done.” As she spoke indignantly Maria wrestled herself from his grip and turned back to face him. “Now you had better start treating me right or you are out’a here, Ramone…” She clicked her fingers in front of him. “…Like that”</p><p>“You want me to start treating you right huh?” he said advancing upon her. “Then I suggest you do something to earn it.”</p><p>Thrusting his arms out Ramone grabbed the woman around her waist and shoulders and forced his mouth against her own. When his tongue invaded past her soft lips she began to hammer on his back with her fists. He ignored her, tasting every inch of her sweet mouth. Shifting his left hand down from her waist he seized her ass and squeezed it hard, pressing her body up against his own. For a brief moment, the pounding intensified. However, the moment he brought his other hand around to pinch one of her nipples through the bra he felt her turn to putty in his hands.</p><p>Maria’s fingers found their way underneath his t-shirt and he felt her nails dig in and claw at his back. He busied his own hands with tearing off her bra. Ramone took hold of her breasts and cupped his hands around them a loud moan from her encouraged his groping. Wasting no time he shouldered out of his jacket and released her for the time it took to haul down her skirt and panties. Wrenching her arms from out beneath his t-shirt he spun Maria around once more and forced her down to the floor with him. After a brief struggle with his zipper, he had freed his manhood and drove it deep inside the woman. Seizing her breasts once more in his hands Ramone thrust himself in and out; extracting a loud moan each time.</p><p>By the time he was done he knew she had still not reached her own climax but he didn’t care. Hauling himself to his feet he redid his trousers before cracking his neck. He needed a smoke.</p><p>“Why you dirty little piece of shit,” Maria gasped breathlessly from where she still lay sprawled on the floor, she must have been close. “You think you can just waltz in here get your rocks off and then leave me high and dry! This is exactly the kind of shit I’m talking about, Ramone.”  She pounded a fist on the floor.</p><p>He couldn’t be bothered listening. Turning his back on her Ramone pulled his tobacco out of his pocket and began rolling a smoke.</p><p>“Ramone...Ramone? Are you even listening to me you goddamn son of a bitch?”</p><p>Licking the paper Ramone finished making his cigarette and pulled out his zippo. Flicking it to life he brought it up and caught the end of the smoke a light in the small orange flame.</p><p>“Oh hell no,” he then heard Maria say from behind him and he turned back to face her. “How many times have I told you, you ain't smoking that shit in my kitchen.”</p><p>“Aww, can it bitch,” he spat around a draw. What was it with assholes not letting him smoke tonight?</p><p>“That’s it I have had it, Ramone. You get your ass outside if you’re gonna smoke that shit. I will not have smoking in my kitchen.”</p><p>“Go screw yourself.” The second the insult left his mouth Maria seized a plate from the counter and threw it at him. Ducking his head just in time the blue stoneware flew over the top of him and out into the hall where he heard it shatter against the wall. Before he could straighten up Maria had another in her hand. Fuck this he thought. Hastily he darted out of the doorframe and down the hall, his boots crunching on broken crockery.</p><p>“Don’t you dare run out on me you bastard,” Maria yelled from back inside the kitchen. “You better get your ass back here and clean up that mess you made me make.” Ignoring her Ramone headed straight for the front door. “Go ahead run like you always do you pussy!”</p><p>Hauling the front door open Ramone stormed out and started off down the broken pathway. “And another thing. If you don’t show at Olivia’s birthday barbeque Wednesday afternoon we are finished. D’you hear me, Ramone? Finished!”</p><p>He did not stop; this seemed to annoy her more than anything he had previously done. From behind him, he heard the sound of Maria catching the door before it hit the frame. She then yelled venom practically dripping from the words as she spat them “And for your information, if I went and screwed myself I’d do a much better job of it than you just did.” The door slammed shut.</p><p>Puffing his smoke Ramone checked the time on his watch; it was well after three in the morning. Bastard. He needed a beer, some food and then somewhere to crash for the night. At this time only the strip clubs would be open and only a small number of takeout joints. Cursing his luck he set off down the road. There was only one place he would be able to get all three at this time and that happened to be the place he had been trying to avoid at all costs, headquarters.</p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Fearless</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Across the skyline, the evening clouds stretched out over the cooling blue sky. The air temperature had dropped from its midday high to a more comfortable warmth and the last of the sun’s rays were most likely creating a tranquil sunset somewhere, but not here. Encapsulated by tall buildings this part of the city had lost sight of the sun about an hour ago. Now the streetlamps and the promise of stars later were all that existed to stave off the darkness.</p><p>At street level, people and vehicles had dwindled to the dregs of life and a silence threatened to envelop the area and swaddle it in nights embrace. Into this would be quiet, at the end of one street in particular, the patchy rumble and clang of a metal shutter descending ripped through the tranquillity and had been enough to startle a cluster of birds into flight. The tree on which they had been perched being one of several equally spaced cherry blossoms that had not long transformed from their wintery haunted forest-guise to a more pleasing, almost picturesque portrayal of spring. It was the season of change after all.</p><p>Unfortunately, not all of nature's creatures were blessed with the ability to completely change themselves. Clad in black cargo pants and matching polo shirt bearing a spaceship logo and the words ‘Lunar DVD Rental’ the red-haired form of Anna Richards stood considering this philosophy; a large plastic bag clutched cumbersomely under her arm. She watched on while a man in identical attire struggled to reach up and haul the second shutter down over the shop windows. Though shorter than her by a good few inches his manly pride prohibited him from making her do the job instead. Not that he had much man in him to Anna’s mind.  He had skinny limbs with a little pot belly and hunched shoulders, a pointed nose and a lot of dull lifeless hair over almost every part of his exposed skin except the top of his head. She often felt he would be much more at home with his brethren in one of the sewer colonies.   </p><p>“See you Wednesday, Richards,” he stated when finally the shutter had slammed home and rained a shower of dirt and rust down onto her.</p><p>You really are a rat Anna thought as the man stood up and walked away without even looking at her; car keys in one hand and a supersize Snickers appearing in the other. At least she had the decency to wait while he shut up shop.</p><p>“Yeah, later,” she replied coldly. She watched her boss walk the short distance from the shop to his car, his elongated incisors gnawing on the candy bar. When the door slammed shut the sound of the engine creaking into life filled the quiet street. Anna smirked mirthlessly to herself, yeah people don’t change. She set off in the opposite direction. The sky had turned a deep shade of navy and the cloudy dregs had long since gone. It was twilight time and she liked it. The long walk home gave her time to think.</p><p>For once the thought of work had almost been a welcome distraction from the pettiness of her peers. Until she had got in the door and discovered she would be spending the evening alone with Jason; her boss. The man-rat, or should that be rat-man, could be prettier than Dylan, Natalie and Raymond combined; the virtue of age had also made him a complete sleaze to boot.</p><p>Things had gone from bad to worse as one whiff of her bourbon-soaked first customer had told her the evening would be long. Half an hour she had spent arguing with him that the alcohol he had tried to ‘polish’ the Disc with had done more damage to it that it would have done his liver. This had escalated when on his insistence Anna tried to play the disc only for it to confirm her side of the story. After furiously yelling about the store trying to rob him he then stormed off without paying the fine; knocking over a rocket-shaped display on his way out. A shouting match with Jason had then wound up costing her $8 off her pay (bringing the total for the day to $23) and the arduous task of rebuilding the stupid sci-fi stand.     </p><p>When closing time had finally rolled around she had managed to recoup some of the $8 loss by spending two more on the mass amount of stale popcorn that had gone unsold over the course of the evening. With Jason now skulking off to the nearest open manhole or his basement apartment in his mother’s house, whatever came first, she was free to make her way home. Exhausted from the day’s endeavours Anna would have liked nothing more than to jump a bus and head straight to bed. Neither were going to happen tonight. Her required expenditure for the day now totalled a whopping $25. That ruled out any form of transport other than her own legs. As for sleep, she had lost that privilege the moment Stevens had demanded her literature report by eight am the next morning. Three hours detention would be far easier to wriggle out off than six so her body clock would just have to take the hit while she finished writing the damn thing.</p><p>A thin smile spread across Anna’s lips. She could just imagine the look of pure rage that would form on Stevens’s face the moment her guidance counsellor told him point blank that she wouldn’t be doing his detention. It was a card she used sparingly but with Steven’s, it would be her only way out of a punishment that she neither had the time nor mental capacity to deal with.</p><p>##   </p><p>By the time she turned the last corner into her deserted street Anna’s limbs were heavy and it was almost an effort to carry the weightless popcorn. During the journey, the site of a convenience store had reminded her of a pressing need for shampoo. With little choice, she had been forced to endure a trek beneath migraine inducing white strip lights in order to purchase a bottle. Bringing her total for the day up to $26.25.</p><p>Making her way along the only sound to be heard aside from her own light footsteps came from the direction of the strip club. Outside her own building, Mrs Vandabedian had moved indoors though even in the darkness of a broken street light Anna could tell that the old bat's windows were still as dirty as they had been that morning despite the crazy woman’s ministrations. Forcing her aching legs to climb the stairs she fumbled around in the side compartment of her rucksack for her keys. By the time she had reached the top she had a firm grasp on them and wasted no time stuffing the relative one into the stiff lock. She didn’t even bother trying to push the monstrosity open. Instead, she took a step back, raised her leg and kicked the door out of its housing in one clean blow.</p><p>Anna staggered slightly as she struggled to control her balance, she wobbled for a second and managed to catch herself. It took effort to stay upright. Opening the door had taken far more energy than she had anticipated. Sighing at the idiocy of her actions, she made for the stairs up to the second floor. Finally, back in her apartment, she firmly closed her door and locked it tightly with key and chain; you could never be too careful in this neighbourhood.</p><p>She took a deep breath and leant against the door; eyes closed. Unfortunately, the slowly intensifying smell of damp from the hallway brought a swift end to the peace. She sighed and pushed herself off the door. Wandering down the short dark hallway she entered her bedroom and flicked on the light. What lay before her was nothing short of a bomb site. Hell, an atomic bomb going off would probably have made less of a mess than she had in her hurry that morning. Though to be fair the room hadn’t exactly been tidy beforehand.</p><p>Sighing Anna dropped her bags onto the bed and began stripping off her work clothes. She would have to find time to tidy up in here, along with the rest of the apartment before Matt came over on Friday night. What on earth had possessed her to demand that he come over to her place? Why couldn’t she have made him take her out to dinner? Or anything else that didn’t involve her having to clean? Even Matt’s sweaty-sock smelling bedroom and putting up with Donny eavesdropping would have been a better option.</p><p>She shook her head, opened her rucksack and withdrew the stuffed up clump that her regular clothes had become. She didn’t have an aversion to cleaning, just never the time to do it properly. School typically took up her entire mornings and afternoons five days out of seven. While during the week work took up three evenings till after nine. As for the weekends, she lost all of Saturday after eleven until late and Sunday afternoons to work, while a trip to Walmart swallowed up most of Sunday evening. That left her with two evenings a week and the mornings before work at the weekends to do all her school and housework. Of late, the latter had needed to give and even then she had been so short of time she had forgotten all about the report for Stevens.</p><p>Once changed she removed her notebook, a pen and an exceptionally battered copy of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein from her rucksack and picked up the bag of popcorn. She looked at the popped kernels through the clear plastic bag and sighed. Deep down she knew exactly why she had invited Matt over on Friday. Though she desperately wanted to spend time alone with him and distract herself from life, her second request for Chinese food and Pepsi was the real reason behind choosing here for the location. Matt, with a bottomless stomach and a metabolism that craved fuel pretty much 24/7, had a habit of being overly excessive when buying takeout food and if she were careful the leftovers could be made to last the rest of the weekend. It wasn’t a nice thing to do nor something she took any pleasure in, but she could ill afford to pass up such an opportunity. In the end, if her only crime towards Matt involved trying to feed herself into the bargain then that still made her a damn site better person than either Natalie or Dylan, who were more likely out for blood rather than Moo Shu Pork.</p><p>Taking a last look at the disaster she called her bedroom Anna flicked the light switch off and headed for the kitchen. Expertly she guided her way around the room in the dark and filled herself out a glass of tap water and fetched a large green plastic bowl into which she poured a quarter of the popcorn bag. She then headed for the living room.</p><p>Another bombsite she thought, setting her collection of items down beside an old notebook. It contained multiple songs in varying degrees of completeness that she had written. She never had the time to write these days she lamented as her eyes caught sight of the cover. Hell if it weren’t for the fact that she took music at school she probably wouldn’t even have time to play.</p><p>Absentmindedly she picked up the book and began flicking through. It actually contained some decent stuff she thought, one particular piece catching her eye. A soft acoustic country track she had written not long after her uncle had passed. The tune filled her head and she could recall wanting to add a short bluesy guitar solo onto the end but never being able to find the right tone.</p><p>There was no time to start experimenting with the guitar right now she reminded herself, wrenching her eyes away from the pages and closing the book. Instead, she would have to make do with listening to some tried and tested tunes while she finished her report. Who knew, perhaps she would find some inspiration amongst the work of the masters. Selecting a CD from the cabinet she put it on and turned the volume up loud. It might have been late but she didn’t care. The apartment building had an accepted rule of you did what you wanted and everyone else had to put up with it; for the landlord didn’t care about anything except the rent being paid on time.</p><p>Settling down in the armchair Anna opened her notepad and looked over what she had written last. As she reviewed her line of argument she stuffed a handful of popcorn into her mouth. Yuck! Her face contorted into a look that would probably have brought about rapturous laughter if there had been an audience present. Jason the rat had mixed the small remainder of sweet popcorn in with the much more substantial leftover salted. Anna had never been the biggest fan of popcorn before she started working at Lunar DVD Rental but the sickly sweet stuff they sold was just nasty. It looked like she would have to feel every bit for the slight stickiness that distinguished the sweet from the salted; lest she be poisoned.</p><p>CD upon CD came and went and Anna’s neat penmanship slowly began to smudge. Eventually after four and a half hours, three near poisonings and two glasses of water she stood up from the armchair and yawned loudly; she was finished. Her conclusion may have been slightly rushed but she no longer cared.</p><p>Exhausted Anna staggered from the room and across the hall into her bedroom. It had just gone three in the morning. Wasting no time she dressed down to her t-shirt and pulled on a pair of pale blue poly-cotton pyjama trousers. Where the jacket had ended up she did not know and she had no want to go and search for it. Though in honesty the soft cotton of her t-shirt didn’t chafe her skin while she slept.</p><p>Climbing in under a thin duvet Anna lay back onto what must surely have been the world’s lumpiest mattress. Turning over she set her alarm clock and groaned at the prospect of yet another night where she would get, at best, three hours sleep. Her neck also joined in with the complaints from various parts of her body as her head came to rest on the mattress. You only have to make it to Sunday she tried to tell it. Come Sunday and a trip to Walmart, $2.43 on the bus and she would have new pillows at $5.00, making the cost for today $28.68. It was now Tuesday morning, that left her $11.32 for the rest of the week. She lay feeling her heart rate increase slightly at the thought of money. She swallowed, her throat dry and aching. Though exhausted sleep did not come immediately. She stared at the hanging light bulb above her… waiting. The room had a slightly rosy glow before the cracked plaster on the roof blurred and sleep finally took her.</p><p>##</p><p>
  <em>From here to infinity, the only thing that could be seen was a sea of black. It stretched out from the centre and did not lessen at any point in any direction. It had no source either, rather it just…was. An endless expanse of dark nothingness. Yet to say that within this nothingness existed nothing and that nothing could be seen would be grossly incorrect. </em>
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  <em>On some sort of surface that could conceivably be the ground, it was hard to tell, lay a girl. However, the term lay may not have been the most appropriate. People typically don’t lie eagle spread. Manacled to the ‘ground’ by a set of unimaginably heavy steel shackles the blonde haired girl could have mistakenly been called motionless. Although her body barely moved, the girl’s fists were clenched and she yanked on her impossibly tight restraints with all her might. They would not budge an inch. How long she fought for she had no idea. Time did not seem to exist here. At least not in the same manner as in the outside world. </em>
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  <em>Somewhere out in the darkness, she heard a faint click and she froze. Seconds, minutes or hours later, she heard another. A soft unmistakable click, similar to a penny being tapped against a window. Click….click…click. The noise drew closer. Out in the distant dark, she could slowly begin to make out the outline of a figure. Anxiously she intensified the struggle against her chains but they gave no more liberty than before. </em>
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  <em>No light source existed but somehow she could see perfectly in the blackness. Out of the shadows, the thing came. A hulking shape that could not possibly be humanoid. Nothing human could have a form like that. Raised up on clawed feet the beast was a remarkable sight, its talons glistening in the non-existent light. </em>
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  <em>As the continual clicking noise filled her ears, the thing began to circle her. A hunter stalking prey. From out in the dark depths, other figures had leaked into existence, almost pouring themselves towards her like waves of tar forming and melting. They surged upwards to form more shadowy, faceless shapes in a ring around her and the creature pressing in, ogling. Tearing her eyes away from her tormentor the girl called out to the crowd for help but none responded. Faces slowly began to form amidst the ranks and she could see clearly that some held sympathy in their eyes but alongside it, there also existed trepidation… fear. Meanwhile, others acted like they had gone temporarily deaf, apathy. However, worst of all were the few that looked to be enjoying the spectacle, they revelled in her predicament. Indeed, she could hear a few whistles and jeers when she looked upon their faces for comfort. Her gaze then fell upon a solitary figure at the back of the crowd. Though partly immersed in shadow there was no mistaking it. Forcing air into her lungs she cried out “Help me… Please.” She received no response. Instead, the figure simply smiled at her softly before the darkness consumed it, pulled it down and causing it to dissolve back into nothingness. “NO!!!” She felt wetness on her cheeks and her voice broke in the middle of the scream. </em>
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  <em>The beast stopped directly in front of her and let out a cruel high-pitched laugh. Drawing itself up to its full height the thing extended its bright steel talons and descended upon her. Hurriedly she tried to close her eyes in the hope that not looking at it would make it disappear. However, her eyes would not respond. With one final effort, she yanked at the chains that held her. They did not budge an inch. As maniacal laughter echoed out around her, the beast sunk its claws into her left shoulder. A scraping noise filled her ears when talon clawed through flesh and struck bone. Blood splattered everywhere and pain like nothing she had ever felt before coursed through her body like an electric pulse up her spine. There were no words in existence to describe the agony. Her body convulsed and she vomited repeatedly until she was wrung dry. Only then did she really start to scream. She screamed until her voice cracked, ended, and kept screaming silently while the faceless shapes watched on and her blood mingled with their shadowy forms. The creature hauled her up like an old rag doll, bringing her closer to its snarling face. Eye to eye, it bared its teeth and…</em>
</p><p>##</p><p>Anna sat bolt upright as she was hauled from the nightmare. From head to toe, a cold sweat covered her body. Instinctively she brought a hand up to her left shoulder and slid it beneath her t-shirt. Slowly she rubbed her fingers over the spot where the creature’s claws had impaled her; it had all felt so real she mused panting for breath. She rotated her arm stiffly, the joint let out a crack.</p><p>From somewhere off to her left a piercing beeping began to impale her skull with enough drive that made her want to vomit again. It took her a moment to remember she had not actually been sick, it had just been a dream. She quickly checked the bed to confirm this, it would not have been the first time she had thrown up because of that nightmare. The noise deepened and began to bleep more urgently causing her to scrunch her face up against it; her alarm clock. Deftly she stretched her right hand across her body and hit the infernal device until it stopped. It appeared that last night’s headache had not ebbed any. Nor had the pain in her neck it seemed.</p><p>Letting out a deflated moan Anna threw the duvet to the bottom of the bed and swung her legs over the edge. She would have liked nothing more than to have snuggled back down beneath it for an extra ten minutes but she knew that if she did she would not likely rise before midday. Wearily Anna made her way across the blue-carpeted floor and out onto the cold floorboards of her hallway. On route to the bathroom, she made a quick detour to pop on an album. </p><p>This morning her shower was quick and uneventful. She got in, washed her hair and body then got out. Simple. No relaxation, no arguments with the shampoo bottle and most importantly, no delays. Back in the bedroom, she had time to properly dry and dress. Her outfit consisted of a pair of black jeans, a clean smelling red tee and a lightweight hoodie featuring the Woodlake wolf on the front and the text ‘Taylor 18’ on the back. It belonged to Matt, who had given it to her in a manner reminiscent of how the football players gave their girlfriends their jackets. While a stereotypical ‘Jock’ thing to do, it showed he cared and had the added bonus that it would infuriate Natalie. That bitch had been jealous for three years now and Anna knew she peddled the tale of how Matt was stolen from her.</p><p>When finished, she casually made her way to the kitchen where she hovered over the toaster to ensure the damn thing did not make cinders of her breakfast two days running. Golden brown and buttered toast in hand Anna then paid a visit to the refrigerator and extracted a can of Pepsi. The sole pleasure she allowed herself to indulge in without compromise; at least in terms of quality. Even though large plastic bottles were more cost-effective they came with the obligation that you had to consume the entire contents within a day or two of opening or risk the remainder becoming undrinkable. When you had to ration your favourite drink, it was better to buy less but be able to enjoy every serving at the points when you felt you either needed or deserved it.</p><p>Concerning the whole need/deserved concept today was most unquestionably a need day for Anna. Nonetheless, she had certainly done enough work the previous night to have earned it. Taking her breakfast to the living room she sat down in the armchair. At the first bite of the golden coloured bread and butter, her stomach rejoiced at the presence of actual, unpoisoned food. Toast had never tasted so good. She took the first swig from the can and savoured it for a second letting the bubbles burst on her tongue.</p><p>As the icy cold liquid hit the back of her throat, she relaxed slightly. The memory of the nightmare slowly began to recede into the depths of her mind, where it would stay until next time. But that would be a little later on. For now, at least she could concentrate on the week ahead. Tonight she had to catch up with schoolwork. She still had a few other pieces of homework due for later in the week but once they were done she could leave anything that got handed out this week until the weekend. That would hopefully leave her with Thursday night to clean and sort laundry. Then after work on Friday, she would hopefully have enough time to do any last-minute tidying and get changed before Matt arrived. She could then catch up with sleep on Saturday and start some homework before work at eleven. Finally, she could spend Sunday morning finishing homework before work in the afternoon after which she would take her biweekly trip to Walmart. Sorted.</p><p>Her week planned Anna finished her toast, drained the last drop of Pepsi from the can and turned off the stereo. As the music ceased she turned her attention to the alcove. Casually she picked up the eight-ball black electric and gave it a strum. Maybe today would be the day she thought, packing it away into its case and slotting her notebook of songs into the front pouch. Slinging the guitar over a shoulder she collected her Frankenstein essay from the coffee table and went to find her rucksack and other effects.</p><p>It did not take long. The fortunate thing about mess is that, contrary to popular belief, the last things added to the mound are the easiest to find. From yesterday’s jeans, she withdrew her cell phone, change and… She sighed upon procuring the mp3 player and now defunct earbuds; walking without music sucked. Electing to leave the useless device behind Anna made her way from her room and out of the apartment.</p><p>Descending the cool concrete stairwell and opening the front door the heat from this morning’s blazing sun hit her. Perhaps black attire today had been a serious miscalculation. She had no time to run upstairs and change into something lighter though as the Frankenstein report had to be on Steven’s desk by eight. Unzipping her hoodie she made her way down the stone steps to street level and into the cooling breeze she knew would dissipate the moment she made her way out of the neighbourhood.</p><p>Meandering along at a lethargic pace Anna made her way to school. Though she had no music to accompany this morning’s walk it was still an improvement on the previous day, owing to the fact that she had encountered neither Mrs Vandabedian on her doorstep nor Dylan at the halfway point. By the time she reached the tree-lined avenue upon which Woodlake Academy resided, the clock that hung above the main entrance declared it to be twenty to eight. Her timing this morning had been impeccable. She would head up to the English hallway, drop off her report and then make it to homeroom in time for the first bell.</p><p>Striding through the double doors and into the wide entrance hall, she headed for the main stairs. The oldest part of the building, the entrance hall in fact dated back to the original structure that had been built at the turn of last century. Crossing the central mosaic that depicted three fish swimming in a circular pond of water Anna did not fail to notice that the crowds parted slightly more than they normally did for her. She smiled to herself. Apparently, word had circulated the wider student body of her expert dismantling of Raymond’s psyche at lunch yesterday.</p><p>Making her way up the stairs and through a series of interconnected hallways, Anna reached the English department. The hallway lay deserted. No one ever seemed to linger in this part of the building before homeroom and Anna had a fair idea why; Stevens. Drawing up in front of his classroom she caught sight of a notice on his door; <em>‘Assignments are only considered handed in on time if they are placed on my desk before the deadline!</em>’ a smile started to tug the corners of her mouth, no problem. She could feel the sense of relief that this one thing could be crossed off her to-do list, extended a hand and twisted the handle. “You Bastard.” Her smile faded, the door was locked.</p><p>Cursing again Anna gave the door a mild kick; it shook slightly and the notice slid on its pin but did not fall. What were the odds that the man would stride up to his door at one minute past eight to open it, then hand her a second detention for the assignment not having been on his desk at exactly eight o’clock… extremely likely she deduced. She could easily kick in the door but that would make too much noise and probably land her in far more trouble than three extra hours’ worth of detention. Shit, what was she going to do?</p><p>In all the time she had spent in that classroom never once had the man locked his door, or even closed it for that matter. Just another way in which he tortured his students. Show them an open gateway to the outside world and freedom but never let them have it until he decided. Still, his window seats were…</p><p>The smile returned to Anna’s lips as the thought of Steven’s ever-open windows crossed her mind. Heart hammering she scanned the hallway then raced the short distance between Steven’s classroom and the one next to it belonging to Ms Cameron. Reaching the door, she yanked on the handle and let out a, “yes,” when it opened onto an empty room. Crossing the floor in only a handful of strides Anna placed her guitar and rucksack down and withdrew her essay. In one swift motion, she vaulted onto the top of the built-in cupboards that lay beneath the windows. Opening the one closest to the wall that separated this room from Stevens’ she poked her head out and saw that the windows to the man’s room were in their ever-open position.</p><p>“Ha. Nice try asshole,” she declared, rolling the report up and clutching it firmly in her hand. Now came the tricky part. She had no other choice… desperate times called for desperate measures.</p><p>The window ledge was only about half the length of her foot but still had more than enough room for her to work with. Carefully Anna climbed out of the window and turned her body to face the building. The gap between the ledges may only have been about two foot but at two levels up it felt a lot wider. Slowly she took a breath and closed her eyes for a second. She had come this far. Briefly, she considered if going to her guidance counsellor and explaining the situation would be a better option. She sighed, she needed to do that about the detention, and two things would make it into an ‘incident’ she could not face the pity, the sighing, or the probing questions. Shimmying her body to the edge Anna planted her right foot and then stretched her left leg out across it…</p><p>…Piece of cake, she thought as her foot touched concrete and her hand reached out to curl around the window frame. Taking a firm hold, she released her grip on the opposite side and pulled the rest of her body across the divide. It was child’s play from there to duck her head down and climb into Stevens’ classroom. Still, she let out a breath when her feet touched down on the carpet.</p><p>Striding between the desks in a similar fashion to the teacher himself Anna stopped at his desk, unrolled her report and placed it neatly and directly in the centre. She would dearly love to see his face when he entered his room first period and discovered it there. What happened after that she would deal with later. She had no intention of doing the first detention he had given her and a quick chat with her guidance counsellor would make it vanish; much to the man’s displeasure. A traumatic life at least came with a few minor perks.</p><p>The trip back to Ms Cameron’s room was even easier than the trip going now that she had done it once already. Back in the classroom, she stooped to gather her belongings only to look up and see the woman staring at her from behind her desk, a gobsmacked expression on her face.</p><p>“W..wh…wha…what on…n…n earth!”</p><p>“Just enjoying the view,” Anna replied sweetly, making her way out of the classroom before the woman even had the chance to think up a response.</p><p>Slowly she sauntered through the hallways towards her homeroom a wicked grin on her face. Ms Cameron would probably not have been the only one who had witnessed her stunt, for that side of the English department looked out over one of the social areas. Wonder how far people will jump out of my way now she mused as the bell to signal the start of homeroom sounded and she crossed the threshold into her own room and dropped into a seat. Today would be a good day.</p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Different similarities</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Glorious sun rays poured down upon the large stone structure of Woodlake Academy. Overhead the sky was a cobalt blue sheet with barely a wisp of cloud in sight. Unfortunately, for all those encased within the concrete construction, the air hung still with an uncomfortable humidity. Not long before homeroom, the air-conditioning had breathed its last cold breath and over the course of the morning tempers and temperature had risen concurrently. By second period the grapevine had it on good authority that no amount of open-generator surgery would save them. In other words, they were all trapped in the oven until days end.   </p><p>Somewhere deep within the bowels of the school Matt Taylor stepped out of a biology lab and made a b-line straight for the nearest water fountain. Only to find that everyone else in the hallway had shared his thought. Damn you, Dr Patterson, he cursed internally as he forced his way to the end of the queue. The biologist had held them back a full thirty seconds so he could make some stupid announcement. About to take his place in line, he was vaguely aware of a slender hand taking a tight grip on his own before its owner hauled him through a doorway.</p><p>Outside the fresh air filled his lungs and the transition from strip lighting to daylight rendered him temporarily blind. Helpless, he had to trust in the guidance of his abductor for the few steps it took them to round a corner and move into a patch shade.</p><p>“Here,” Anna’s voice said, shaking a bottle of icy water in front of him.</p><p>“Thanks,” he replied, taking it and gulping down the cold liquid. “Where in hell did you get this?” </p><p>“There’s an ice machine in Patterson’s back room. I snuck in there before class.”</p><p>Though she smiled, Anna looked tired. That report for Stevens must have kept her up till near midnight. He returned the gesture. It was not often she looked so relaxed these days. “You didn’t go in through the window, did you?”</p><p>Anna’s laugh caused a warm sensation to fill him from head to toe. The wicked smile on her face confirming his suspicion about the day's other hot topic of conversation, the now infamous ledge leaper. When he had caught wind of the tale first period, all anyone knew was that someone had been spotted leaping between two windows on the second floor. By the start of second period, a rough description of someone clad in black with red hair had generally been accepted as fact. Though debate raged on about whether or not they had climbed the walls. Matt could only imagine what stories would be concocted before the end of the day.</p><p>“So what possessed you to scale the building this morning?” he asked, handing the water back to her.</p><p>Anna took a drink before answering. “Has the gossip train already got me ascending the walls?”</p><p>“More or less. What were you actually doing?”</p><p>Anna sighed and the smile vanished. “Handing in my literature report for Stevens.” When he looked at her blankly she added, “the bastard locked his door so I had to find an alternative way in.”</p><p>“Through the window!”</p><p>The look on her face had turned cold. “If he won’t play fair, why should I? I can’t afford double the detention, Matt. Besides, it was a piece of cake. Ms Cameron’s door was open so I climbed out the window, over to his classroom and put it on his desk.”</p><p>Matt shook his head. Not only had Anna become lax in regards to her studies, she seemed to be becoming reckless too. He somehow did not think Stevens would take kindly to her having broken into his room. He chose to voice this concern. “And what if he gives you the detention for breaking into his classroom?”</p><p>“He can’t,” she replied flatly. Turning she indicated for him to follow. “He has no evidence. All he has is my report on his desk by the deadline. What’s he going to turn around and say? I know it had to be you because I purposely locked my door to prevent you from handing it in. How else could your report have gotten there… I doubt it.”</p><p>It made sense Matt conceded, parking his rear on the cool, shaded brickwork of a raised flower bed. Anna had led them around to the west side of the building, one of the few spots where the sun's scorching rays had not yet reached.</p><p>“You must be sweltering in all that black,” he then said, taking in the beads of sweat on her forehead and her slightly flushed cheeks. He had not failed to notice that today she wore his Woodlake Wolves hoodie. “If you want you can borrow my gym shorts, I’ve got a spare pair in my locker.”</p><p>“EWWW,” Anna declared as she screwed up her face. “I might be your girlfriend, but even I draw the line at wearing your stinky gym shorts.”</p><p>They both broke out into a bout of laughter and Anna gave him a light shove. In hindsight, it was probably a wise decision on her part. The shorts in question were the same ones he had worn for yesterday's volleyball match.</p><p>“Besides if I took my jeans off some perve would probably steal them and by tomorrow they’d be up for auction. The pants of the infamous Woodlake Ledge Leaper.”</p><p>Matt snorted, the image of an auctioneer, who looked suspiciously like Raymond, holding Anna’s jeans aloft for the baying crowd filling his mind. “Shouldn’t I get first refusal?” he enquired. “I am your boyfriend after all.”</p><p>“Hmph!” She exclaimed indignantly as she clipped him round the ear. “So while I’m standing there in my undies, you’re bidding on my pants. Some boyfriend you are.”</p><p>He gave her a smirk and could see she struggled to keep a straight face. Had it been anyone else her look would have been still as a corpse, regardless of whether she was poking fun or not. “At least you’ll have my stinky gym shorts.”</p><p>For a split second, they locked gazes. They always played this game in such situations. Her icy green eyes against his soft brown ones. Laughter was imminent but neither were willing to break first. Matt’s fingers began to twitch and he could feel the corners of his mouth begin to tug. Anna struggled too he noticed. Though the undisputed champion she was having difficulty in containing herself. Always a sign that she felt fairly relaxed. A heartbeat later and they both broke down into a fit of hysterics.</p><p>A solitary tear rolled from Matt’s left eye due to the effort of trying to maintain decorum. Wiping it away he stretched out a hand and took hold of Anna’s clammy palm. “I’ve missed this,” he said sincerely, finding her eyes once more. On a day like today, when the ice had melted, he could stare at them for eternity. Like looking into the essence of spring.</p><p>“Me too,” she replied softly.</p><p>Feeling a light squeeze from her hand, Anna shifted herself closer to him. Releasing her grip she slowly rubbed her hand up his sticky back until it reached the short hairs on the back of his head. She smiled, pure and devoid of any devilry or wickedness that were her trademarks. Soft and pale, for Anna did not believe in makeup, her lips were too close and tantalising to resist.</p><p>Placing an arm around the small of her back, Matt pulled Anna’s slender frame towards him. A metaphorical spark shot through the pair as their lips met in the smallest, most delicate of moments. A fire raged within him, burning away all the doubt, the worry… the issues. For that brief instant, he knew what kept them together, love.</p><p>Pulling apart, Matt’s gaze instinctively glanced from side to side.</p><p>“Worried someone will see us?” Anna whispered seductively in his ear.</p><p>He looked her straight in the eyes. “It’s just a bad habit.”</p><p>She laughed and he could tell his cheeks had gone red. “You're lucky I know how bashful you are.” Effortlessly their lips interlocked, tongues twitching back and forth. According to Anna, his hockey skills were apparently transferable from the ice. “I know baseball’s not your thing but come Friday even you’ll be able to make it to first base. And I promise you won't have to worry about a heckling crowd.”</p><p>Blood flowed to Matt’s extremities as Anna reconvened the kiss. They had never talked about sex and he doubted that would change anytime soon. Yet it didn’t bother him. He wasn’t with Anna so he could get his rocks off then maybe call her in the morning. She meant so much more to him that even the thought was abhorrent. He still had the urges of his peers of course. Except for Dylan, whose urges seemed to be insatiable. If Anna wanted to try for second base, great. If not, he would wait for her. Anything beyond that... he probably wasn’t prepared for yet. Still, it added an extra dash of spice to their planned evening alone.</p><p>Breaking off once more Anna wrapped her arms around him and nestled her head in beside his neck. Responding in kind he couldn’t help but notice a pair of woman had walked around the near corner of the building. The first was Miss William’s, the vice principal, but he did not recognise the other. He paid them no heed.</p><p>“Matt,” Anna whispered from where she had snuggled, “I love you.” The sincerity of Anna’s words struck his heart like a bolt of lightning. She’d said it before, of course, but never so simply. “I know I don’t act like it sometimes but… it’s hard for me.”</p><p>“I know,” he said reassuringly. Her words held no secrets from him. Her family life had been… difficult, turbulent. “I love you too.”</p><p>Pulling away she gave him another warm smile. “Sounds like we’re about to be interrupted.”</p><p>A look of bewilderment spread across Matt’s face as he tried to work out how Anna had known the woman were approaching without seeing them. In reality, it shouldn’t have been a surprise. He had long known Anna possessed senses beyond those of the average person. Perhaps someday he could ask her to teach him how to attune his own.</p><p>“Good morning, Miss Williams,” Anna said, standing to greet the pair of woman who had stopped beside them.</p><p>The vice principal returned the gesture with a cold, expressionless look. Matt was well aware of the woman's disapproval of Anna. A tardy delinquent her most recent label. Nevertheless, he followed suit. “Good morning, Miss Williams.”</p><p>The vice principal did not reply, instead, she turned to her companion. “These are two of our current year twelve students, Mrs Giles.”</p><p>Matt looked at the woman the vice principal had just referred to as Mrs Giles. She was short, even when taking into account a pair of six-inch stilettos. With raven hair held up in a chopstick bun and makeup, which to Matt’s eyes bordered on excessive. Still, she held a beauty that ten years ago would probably have ranked her amongst the hottest cheerleaders in the school, give or take. He shrugged, she had nothing on Anna in his eyes.</p><p>“This is Mr Taylor, captain of the school hockey team.” Matt almost jumped at the sound of his own name.</p><p>“Nice to make your acquaintance,” Mrs Giles said, holding out a long, red-nailed hand. He took it gingerly though the woman did not let it linger. “Well, that’s a strong grip you’ve got. And who might this be.” The woman turned her attention to Anna.</p><p>Matt could see irritation begin to spread across Miss Williams’ stern features. “This is Miss Richards, one of our…”</p><p>“…martial artists,” Anna cut in. The vice principals face slowly began to turn puce and Matt shot a sideways look at his girlfriend. She gave the pair a sweet smile that he knew held nothing but contempt for the teacher. “I was the junior state champion in Tae Kwon Do three years ago.”</p><p>The looks Anna received from the two woman could not have been more different. While Miss Williams face looked like thunder, Mrs Giles gave her an impressive smile, “fascinating! You must tell me all about it.”</p><p>“Perhaps another time,” Miss Williams interceded. “Mrs Giles, we must continue with the tour. I’m sure that you will see Miss Richards again should you choose to enrol your children here with us at Woodlake Academy.” She then turned to glare at Anna and himself. “Don’t the pair of you have classes to attend to? The morning interval is about to end.”</p><p>Matt did not need telling twice. Picking up his rucksack he took the hand Anna offered to him and they set off.</p><p>“She looks rather young to have children in middle school, don’t you think?” Anna then said in a low voice.</p><p>Turning to look at her he could see why she had used such a tone; the two woman were following them.</p><p>“I would have said she looks old to have kids in high school.”</p><p>They both sniggered under their breaths when they re-entered the building. Turning left they started off down the corridor when a voice called out to them. “Matt!” It was Dylan.</p><p>“Hey, Dylan,” he replied, sounding slightly deflated. It looked like his alone time with Anna for the day had come to an end.</p><p>Dylan jogged up the corridor and Matt could only watch as Miss Williams stepped through the same door he and Anna had used, right into his path.</p><p>“Wahh!” Dylan exclaimed, failing to stop his flailing body from colliding with the vice principal. Fortunately, both parties remained on their feet.</p><p>“MR RODGERS!” Miss Williams yelled, straightening her jacket. Mrs Giles filled in behind her. “What have I told you about running in the hallways?”</p><p>Dylan wisely held his tongue. Too many times in the past had Matt witnessed his best friend dig himself a deeper grave.</p><p>“Dilly’s for it now,” Anna whispered in Matt’s ear.</p><p>Matt suspected that she was about to be proven right when Mrs Giles interrupted. “Another one of your budding athletes? Track I assume?”</p><p>“No. Mr Rodgers is one of our more academic students. Particularly in the field of computers.”</p><p>“Ahh. With an introduction like that and the name Rodgers, I can only assume you are the son of William Rodgers, CEO of WMR Electronics, am I right?”</p><p>Dylan nodded dumbly and Matt suspected he was too busy worrying about the prospect of detention than the question he had been asked.</p><p>“Excellent. Some of my husband's associates have worked with your father.” Mrs Giles gave Dylan a smile before turning back to the vice principal. “Miss Williams, I think I have seen enough. Shall we return to your office and go over the enrolment criteria?”</p><p>Overhead the bell to signal the end of morning break sounded and Miss Williams turned her attention back to her guest, allowing Dylan the opportunity to slip past her.</p><p>Down the hallway, Dylan let out a sigh, “phew. Almost cooked my goose there.”</p><p>From beside him, Anna snorted, “Lucky Boy, aren’t you.” Giving his hand one last squeeze Anna let go. “I’ll see you later, Matt. Love you.”</p><p>She pecked him on the cheek before heading for her Japanese class, while he and Dylan trudged into Spanish. By the time he had taken his seat and unpacked his stuff, the teacher had begun. The lesson was monotonous, at least for Matt. Languages were not his strong suit, however, he had been advised to take one for ‘academic reasons’, or so his guidance counsellor had told him.</p><p>Halfway through the lesson, he found himself gazing out the window, instead of searching his dictionary for a word. His eyes wandering over the parking lot he saw Miss Williams guest walk out the main entrance, talking rapidly on a cell phone. When she reached an old blue Mustang she paused. Ripping her jacket off she proceeded to pluck the chopsticks from her hair and give her head a shake, long raven hair falling down around her shoulders. Tossing them into the passenger seat she climbed in and sped off. </p><p>Matt pushed her odd behaviour to the back of his head, his mind wandering to Anna… and Dylan. He sighed. Why could his friends never get along? He laughed internally, knowing perfectly well the source of Anna and Dylan’s animosity. It was a sad reality he thought, that he could never spend any meaningful time with the pair simultaneously. Like some child, whose parents had separated and now couldn’t stand to be in the same room as one another. It seemed history had a habit of repeating itself, at least in a metaphorical sense.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Bartending</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bartending</p><p>
  <em>A sliver of moonlight penetrated through the thick banks of dark cloud that hung over the southern reaches of Lake Michigan. The crisp air held a breeze that threatened to break out into a full-blown gale should the mood take it. Rain was thus less of a possibility and more a certainty. Only the when remained to be determined. The passage of a depression was… well depressing It seemed.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Down below on a quiet and crumbling road surface, a pair of mid-sized heavy duty Lorries made their way towards one of the lakes many docks. As they sped along the cracked highway bits of loose tarmac flicked up against the rusted undersides of the wheel arches, resulting in a steady stream of harsh clicks where stone hit metal. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Almost with an air of caution, the vehicles approached the wire metal gate that obstructed the entrance to the dock. The trepidation in the motion of the trucks somehow seeming to convey the collective feelings of those inside. Privately owned and in a shabby state of disrepair, the crumbling stone and rotten wood constructions that formed the wharf were quite at odds with the relatively shiny looking fence that circumscribed it. In fact, coupled with the haphazard way its constituent parts had been shoved into their breeze-block bases, it was quite apparent that the fencing had arrived both recently and in a hurry.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Inside the back of the lead lorry, Ramone sat with a cigarette between his fingers, an inch of ash hanging on by force of will alone, the last of the paper burning ever closer to his hand. As the vehicle suddenly juddered to a halt the change in velocity proved to be too much for the glowing ember to cope with and it broke off from the main body of the cigarette only to land on top of Ramone’s battered black boots. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>This was it he thought, absentmindedly taking a draw from the fag butt. Months of planning hinged on the next hour. After tonight they would be playing in the major league. When the rough revving of the engine sounded he breathed a sigh of relief. They had made it past the gate and into the dock, so far so good. Without saying anything he looked at each of his assembled men in turn. They were all good men, each and every one of them. Friends to each other and to him; he wouldn’t have had it any other way. In fact, he had told Sergio outright that if he was to lead the party then he would be choosing the men himself. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>To his left sat Jose, his second in command and the one through whom they had thrashed out the terms of the deal. Across from him sat Enrique or as everyone called him ‘el Niño’. Beside him and directly across from Ramone himself was Juan and to his left Diego, the youngest of the group. Finally, on Ramone’s right-hand side, Paco one of their newer members yet one who could drink with the best of them.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>On the subject of drinking for a group so used to laughing and joking over a few, there had been only sparse chatter since they had embarked upon the drive down to the dock. Indeed Ramone knew it had only added to the feeling of uneasiness that had existed since departing. Though there had been little he could do about it. Small talk was not his strongest quality at the best of times and tonight he could ill afford to let himself get distracted by anything.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Beneath the Lorry, a dull continual thudding replaced the typical tire on tarmac sound. They must be moving out down the jetty now. This was it. In an hour it would all be over…</em>
</p><p>“Ramone.”</p><p>
  <em>Ramone jerked his neck around to look through the gap between the rear of the lorry and the front cab. The driver stared back at him...</em>
</p><p>“Ramone,”</p><p>
  <em>…the man said again though his voice sounded throaty and nothing at all like how it should have. “The fucks your problem?” he replied as the outline of the driver grew fuzzy and light began to shine around him.</em>
</p><p>“Ramone, you lazy pereza, wake up…”</p><p>Ramone’s eyes snapped open and he jumped. In front of him where the driver whose name he had suddenly forgotten had been was the grizzled face of a balding Hispanic man. Before he could react the man flicked a damp towel at him. “You’re lucky I did not kick you out last night. Now get up.”</p><p>The man’s throaty voice might have been grating but Ramone now recognised both it and its owner, Ronaldo. Los sin techo’s very own internal sorrow merchant, barterer of information and most importantly purveyor of liquor. Sitting up from the awkward position he found himself lying in, the first thing to catch his attention was the heat. Lacking windows of both the with and without glass variants the bar/club often got a bit stuffy in the evenings when it began to get crowded but never could he recall it being so suffocating during the day and not while empty.</p><p>He swallowed, the back of his throat dry and his tongue like sand and ran a hand through his hair. “Why’s it so fucking hot?”</p><p>“’Ottest day of d’e year my friend. Only you’ve missed most of it.” A glance up at the clock that hung behind the bar told Ramone that the man spoke the truth; it was almost three in the afternoon. “I tell you it’s a cold day in ‘ell when Sergio is about before you. D’ough I guess it explains where all this ‘eat came from, eh my friend.” Ronaldo’s chuckle broke into a hacking cough. For a moment Ramone watched him pick his way between the scattered tables and enter the room beyond the bar that housed his kitchen.</p><p>From the surface of the wooden monstrosity that separated the patron from poison, a small metal fan whirred vociferously and Ramone could tell it was struggling to keep up with its owner’s demands for maximum power. At least it would provide some reprieve from the heat while he figured out what to do he reasoned. Forcing himself to shake off the ill effects of last night’s binge he got to his feet and awkwardly made his way over to the bar stool nearest the fan; it creaked when he sat down.</p><p>Spreading his elbows out over the faded wooden top Ramone gazed up at the dusty bottles of spirits that hung on the back wall and tried to figure out which combination of them might desensitise his brain to the effects of the heat. In truth, he didn’t even know what half this stuff was. Spirits had always been Sergio’s drink; he much preferred nice cold beer. The distinctive sound of crockery being slid across the bar brought him out of his musings. “You might ‘ave missed breakfast but it’s never too late in the day for coffee and bacon.”</p><p>Ramone gazed down at the plate and mug in front of him. Bacon and eggs on a bread roll with a dash of hot sauce and black coffee, just the way he liked it. It might have been basic but it was better than anything Maria had shoved in front of him after waking lately if she had even bothered to at all. Tearing off a mouthful of the roll his stomach at once recoiled then growled hungrily for the promise of food. Ramone greedily devoured the meagre meal, the hot sauce splashing across his moustache and burning his tongue. Absentmindedly he stretched out his free hand to turn the fan is his direction…. ‘Slap!’ From nowhere the bartender flicked his cloth at his outstretched hand. “Mghr!” Ramone declared in irritation as he tried to curse at the bartender and eat at the same time.</p><p>“Touc’ my fan and I’ll feed it your ‘and.” Ronaldo looked at him sternly and Ramone withdrew his hand. “And you owe me four dollars.”</p><p>“Fuhh…Off,” Ramone spat, swallowing hard. He knew there would be little point in arguing. Like most bartenders, Ronaldo had a memory like a steel trap and had been known to bar people for disputes over lesser sums.</p><p>“It ain’t a soup kitchen I’m running ‘ere. You pay your tab before you leave or I ‘unt you down and take it from your still warm corpse. And just be thankful I make you something after you came waltzing in ‘ere last night demanding I feed and water you like a common ‘orse.”</p><p>Taking a drink of the scalding coffee Ramone used his free hand to this time go inside his own pocket and find the man his money.  “Here,” he said between mouthfuls as he held out four grubby dollar coins.</p><p>The barman turned up his nose but snatched them anyway. “And you should be grateful I tell you d’is, but Sergio’s waiting for you in ‘is office.”</p><p>Ramone’s face fell slightly at the reminder of his inevitable clash with Sergio. He hadn’t forgotten about it per se just forced it down into the dull depths of his mind beneath multiple pints of beer, smokes, his fight and physical moment with Maria and then some more beer and more smokes. A night of drinking had at least soothed his temper though he was not sure if his fight with Maria had taken precedence. It would be unwise for him to be fighting everyone in his life at the same time. Still, it by no means meant he would be rolling over the second he walked into Sergio’s office. “He’ll wait till I’ve finished my coffee.”</p><p>He took another long drink and realised that the wait wouldn’t be much longer. Slamming the mug down with more force than intended Ramone stood up and stretched his limbs. Fishing inside his pocket he pulled out his packet of tobacco and cursed; empty. He swore to himself but before he could get a good rage going Ronaldo interrupted.</p><p>“For d’e road my friend.” Ramone looked up to face the barman and saw the singular cigarette he held out. “On d’e ‘ouse,” he then added with a yellow-toothed grin. “Only tell Sergio ‘e owes me for d’e bottle ‘e took last night. I know it was ‘im who lifted it.”</p><p>“Good luck,” Ramone replied, taking the smoke and placing it between his teeth. “He still owes Maria for the bottle he swiped from her liquor cabinet six months ago. She went ape when she found out… and blamed me.” As he spoke the thought of Maria brought about images of her face from the previous evening and of her ultimatum; be at Olivia’s party or they were done. An empty threat. He lit the smoke. Maria threatened to kick him out every other month but yet he still hung around; like a bad odour. </p><p>Still, he would be best not to push his luck. He did not relish being on the wrong end of the woman’s temper for a week or two. Turning away from Ronaldo and his stuttering fan Ramone made his way to the door. Time to deal with Sergio.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Hitting the fan</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Towards the northern reaches of the city, the blazing sun bombarded both the cracked sidewalk and the dilapidated collection of wood and masonry that formed the headquarters of Los sin techo. The building lay virtually lifeless as it baked in the heat. Lacking any obvious form of air-conditioning, save for windows that had long since lost their glass, had led to the heat becoming unbearable and thus the exodus of the vast majority of the denizens within. Resulting in the normal hive of activity being reduced to a standstill. The workers electing to take their chances outside in the direct sunlight that, ironically, proved cooler than inside in the shade.</p><p>Up on the top floor, Sergio Gutierrez was enduring a fight that may have been repeated in multiple offices across the city that day. “Work God damn you,” he spat in frustration, slamming his meaty fist down on top of a rickety old tower fan. The internal workings crunched under the force of the man’s blow. Then with a jittery crack, stuttered into life. A twisted smile formed on Sergio’s face, “Is a’bout bloody time.”</p><p>Satisfied with his handiwork the stocky fellow crossed the distance between the now working fan and his desk. He would have liked the fan closer to his desk but it had taken him so long to find it in the first place that once he discovered that the cable was too short he couldn’t be bothered hunting for an extension cord. He could have moved his desk but the damn thing weighed a tonne and he had no desire for such exertion in this heat. Besides, there were many other things he would have liked. First on that long list, a building with bloody air-conditioning. However, like it or not, one had to live within one's means; he had learned that lesson the hard way. </p><p>He sighed as he lowered himself into his seat and immediately sat forward again with a stifled roar. The surface of the chair felt like touching a hot plate but damned if he was going to find an alternative. A man’s office symbolised his authority and the desk and chair were key to this. No one would take him seriously in a fabric thing with stuffing hanging out. The leather may have been old and battered but it served as his throne, the vessel from atop which he ruled. With this point to prove he forced his back against the scorching leather upright with more force than needed and tried to get comfortable. Putting his feet up onto the desktop he could already feel his sweaty shirt, today a blue and white Hawaiian affair, melding with the seat. Where the hell had this heat come from? They had endured weeks of wind and pissing rain and now all of a sudden it felt like the goddamn height of summer, and they were only into the second week of May. Still, it didn’t compare to the scorching summers they used to have back home.</p><p>He had just started to get comfortable when…</p><p>“BBRRRing, BBRRRRing...BBRRRRing, BBRRRRing.”</p><p>“Aww for fuck sake.” Sergio slid his feet from the desk surface and allowed them to land heavily on the floor as he lurched forwards and picked up the baking plastic handset. Why did people always wait until he had gotten comfortable before calling?</p><p>“Wot up Serg?” the high chirpy voice of Tanya said the second he brought the handset to his ear; he groaned. If it weren’t for the fact that the bitch was so good at her job, amongst other things, he would have put a bullet in her a long time ago; if only to spare himself from her irritating vivacious voice.</p><p>“…t’ hell d’you want Tanya, I’m busy.”</p><p>“Someone’s all hot and bothered today. You want me to send you a Popsicle or something to help cool you off?” In the background, Sergio could just make out a low humming sound, which he would bet the entire contents of his bottom desk drawer on, coming from a large and properly functioning fan. He’d bet his Desert Eagle on her having a large cold drink beside her too. Why did Tanya always seem to get the luxury while he, the boss, was stuck with a hunk of junk and a sweltering base of operations to work from? So much for his authority. “Stuff your fucking popsicle,” he spat in annoyance. “What d’you want?”</p><p>“Lots of things that I’m sure you wouldn’t be interested in,” came the short reply. Immediately the heat rushed to Sergio’s face. He swallowed a lung full of air and prepared to bellow. His caller seemed to realise this and spoke quickly.</p><p>“I’ve got an update on the big money spinner I told you about on Sunday. So I’d appreciate it if you’d cool on the techy, Boss.” The last word was elaborated. Clear cut but with a hint of something else. Not quite sarcasm, but nothing tangible for him to put his finger on and call her out over.</p><p>He allowed the air he had taken in to escape with a sigh and rested his elbows on the desk. His memory of Sunday was a hazy blur, consisting of a headache, wonky drugs and alcohol. Amidst it all, he had a vague recollection of Tanya calling him with some sort of business proposition. Something about two-hundred and fifty thousand dollars… Sergio snorted at the thought. While big money opportunities still turned his head, he’d heard far too many of Tanya’s ‘way cool’ business ventures in the past to react with any sort of enthusiasm. Such opportunities rarely presented themselves without a hefty amount of risk, and risk was for young, foolhardy men who had yet to learn the life lesson of ‘<em>atenerse a lo que sabe’</em>.</p><p>“Why don’t you remind me?” he asked, even though he knew he would probably regret it. “What sort of opportunity?”</p><p>“One that’s seen me back in school for the past day and a half.”</p><p>Sergio frowned slightly. Like with half of what Tanya said he could not tell if she meant literally or if it was another one of her irritating meta…meto…or whatever the fuck they were called. Still, it would explain why she had been uncharacteristically quiet since Sunday.</p><p>“What the hell are you talking about?” he barked with more force than necessary; the heat really had cut his already short temper.</p><p>On the other end of the line he could practically hear Tanya role her eyes at him; bitch. “The job involves finding a kid. Where’s the best place to track down a kid?” She paused, but Sergio declined to play along, resulting in her making an audible, “urgh,” noise. “We’re looking for a kid and the best place to find them is via their school,” Tanya finally declared, in a tone that suggested it should have been obvious and Sergio had the feeling she had forced herself not to close with the word, idiot. “This job is like totally a cinch and you would not believe…”</p><p>Sergio never heard what he would not believe as the door to his office suddenly burst open. He pulled the phone away from his ear. “The fuck d’you think you’re doing barging in here unannounced!” he bellowed in the direction of the door, his gaze shifting from the lopsided fan to the intruder; Ramone. “Get the fuck out! Can’t you see I’m on the fucking phone!”</p><p>Ramone didn’t move except to slam the door closed behind him. He looked more dishevelled than normal. Sergio knew that he had spent the night crashed out on a sofa downstairs. Maria must have kicked him out again he reasoned. As the fan turned once more it brought with it a pungent smell of stale sweat, tobacco and cheap beer. The lowlife hadn’t even bothered to shower before dragging his ass up the stairs. “I told you to get the fuck out,” Sergio repeated in a low, warning growl. He fought the urge to pinch his nostrils; the smell really was revolting.</p><p>“Ronaldo said you wanted to talk, so let’s talk.” Ramone’s tone sounded calm and steady though Sergio would have been surprised had it been anything other, Ramone being one of the few who typically remained unfazed after he had roared at them. He again felt the air deflate and with it another shred of his authority.</p><p>“Fine,” he relented. “… let’s talk. You want a drink?” he replied as he sat the phone down on the desk and reached down to open his bottom drawer.</p><p>“No,” the uninvited guest said. “Though Ronaldo says you owe him for the bottle you took last night.”</p><p>Sergio snorted at the remark and pulled out the bottle in question, a golden tequila, along with a closed top glass. The Los sin techo barman robbed him blind when it came to his cut of the bar's earnings so he made sure he got his money’s worth in other ways. Besides, the old man couldn’t throw him out of his own headquarters so would just have to deal with it. “Ronaldo can go screw himself.” He unscrewed the cap and poured himself a generous glass. “You sure you don’t want some?”</p><p>“I didn’t come here to drink your sodden booze. I came because…. because you’re mi amigo.”</p><p>Sergio lifted the glass and took a small sip of its contents. Slowly he rolled it around his mouth, feeling the familiar burn of the liquor on his tongue. “You finally come to your senses, mi amigo?”</p><p>“Have I finally come to my senses?” Ramone reiterated and from his tone, Sergio new the question was about to be thrown back at him. “You’re the one who needs to come to his senses, mi amigo.”</p><p>In a fit of rage, Sergio got to his feet and pounded his free fist down on the desk. How dare that insolent, son of a bitch, come barging into HIS office and declare that HE was the one who needed to see sense. Amigos or not, he needed to put this upstart back into his place. “You had the audacity to leave us, then come crawling back when you could find no work. Yet I welcomed you back, gave you a job and this is the way you react?”</p><p>Both men met the others steely gaze with one of their own. Not an inch to be had in either direction.</p><p>“You call the scraps you’ve given me a job?” Ramone fired back.</p><p>The nerve with which Ramone spoke almost rendered Sergio speechless… almost. “I offered you a job in overseeing the sales. Practically the same one you had before!”</p><p>“And I told you I don’t do that sort of work!” Ramone yelled, spit augmenting the words.</p><p>“Then you don’t get paid!” Sergio bellowed, throwing the glass down onto the floor. “You either do the work I offer and get paid, or wait around until I have a scrap to throw.” </p><p>The look in Ramone’s eyes at the mention of money told Sergio that he had finally worn him down. His fight with Maria must have been particularly nasty this time. “Fine…” Ramone said in resignation, “what is the lowdown?”</p><p>Sergio smiled in a manner that would send most people running and sat back down. Reaching back into the bottom drawer, he pulled out a new glass and poured himself some more tequila. “I have a shipment of merchandise going out tonight. Pirelli is buying.”</p><p>“Pirelli, that stuck up asshole,” the disgust was evident.</p><p>“That stuck up asshole pays better than most,” Sergio replied, helping himself to a drink. “Paulo is conducting the sale. I need you to go along and ensure he doesn’t screw it up?”</p><p>“What!” Ramone demanded, the rage reigniting. “You want me to tag along while Pablo takes charge?”</p><p>Sergio opened his mouth to bellow at him about whose job it was to decide who would be in charge but stopped himself. Instead, he asked, “who the fuck is Pablo?”</p><p>“It’s the actual name of the cunt you keep calling Paulo… and the idiot motherfucker you’re letting handle the sale tonight.”</p><p>“I decide who make’s the fucking sales,” Sergio spat, his temper flaring. “And his fucking name is fucking Paulo.”</p><p>“It’s fucking Pablo,” Ramone barked at him as the two men locked gazes. “We’ve never had anyone called fucking Paulo.” </p><p>“Like, hello!! His name’s Paul.” Sergio’s fierce eyes broke off the staring contest and they quickly shifted to the desk where the phone lay; Ramone’s did the same. “He’s like from Detroit. And Pablo like totally checked out two years ago.” He’d completely forgotten that he hadn’t hung up the phone.</p><p>Ramone was the first of them to respond. “Who the hell asked you?”</p><p>Sergio let out a low groan, picked up his glass and downed the remainder of the tequila in one go; it burned the back of his throat. Here they go again he thought, pouring himself another drink and leaving the door open for Tanya to retort.</p><p>“Since neither of you can even get his name right you like totally forfeit the right to complain at me for butting in. Besides, I was like so talking to Serg first.”</p><p>Ramone opened his mouth to retaliate but Sergio cut him off, “Enough!” Listening to the pair squabble over every little thing just wound up getting nothing done and giving him a headache. “I don’t care whether his name’s Paulo, Pablo or fucking Janice. We have a shipment of merchandise going out tonight and you,” he glared up at Ramone as he stabbed a thick finger in his direction, “are going with it to ensure that <strong>Paulo</strong> gets the job done right.”</p><p>“What’s the need? You obviously think he can handle it,” Ramone replied scornfully.</p><p>Sergio glared at the man but managed to restrain himself from shouting. Though he had been hesitant to agree with Tanya to give Paulo, or whatever his name was, a chance to make a name for himself, experience had taught him the hard way about erring on the side of caution. “I need you to supervise things. Ensure that Paulo and his team can do the job properly.”</p><p>“His name’s Paul,” Tanya whistled but he ignored her.</p><p>“I need you to do this… mi amigo.” He fixed Ramone with an awkward look that he hoped would remind him of their comradery. Eventually, the hard look on Ramone’s face softened slightly and Sergio knew he had got what he wanted.</p><p>“Fine. But I know this wasn’t your idea.” He watched Ramone glare at the handset on the desk. “I’ve told you before you had better curtail that bitch before it’s too late.”</p><p>Before he could reply, Ramone had turned on his heel and headed for the door. “Make sure you shower before you leave. Pirelli might take offence at your stench,” he stabbed listlessly as a passing remark.</p><p>“That prick can go fuck himself,” Ramone called back offhandedly as he opened the door and stalked out.</p><p>When it slammed shut Sergio swallowed his third drink and picked up the phone. “So what were you saying about this kid?” he asked, placing his feet once more on the surface of the desk. He might have dealt with Ramone in a relatively painless and non-headache inducing manner but his gut told him Tanya was about to tax his brain enough to make up for it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Well, what did everyone think? I hope you all enjoyed this first slice of Ensnared. If so, then please do email me for a free eBook copy of the full novel. My email address is as follows: ifoggarty377@gmail.com</p><p>Thank you once again for your time and if you have any questions or would like to air your views, please do drop me a line in the comments section. </p><p>Warmest regards<br/>I.N.Foggarty</p>
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